at the crosswalk.
Their miniature fingers orbit mine
in concentric circles,
landing with the force of a double sun.
"Look, Papa," the youngest says,
"Our hands are hugging!"
You might not be drawn into her gravitational pull.
Her planet does not animate your solar system.
But, perhaps you have a child
or held the future in your palm
and felt the sting of her breaking away
before you reach the safety of the sidewalk.
Traffic rushes headlong like a meteor shower,
awakening the acute vulnerability
to which I am eternally enjoined.
These are my co-creations,
skipping undaunted toward the light,
propelling us through space and time.
I am bound to them
like atoms in a molecular waltz,
like light waves captured in the event horizon,
like comets on a collision course,
like galaxies hurling toward
the void.
