infancy

Thick fog of childhood,
Thin blanket of memory,
Foghorn sounding in the harbor,
And train-whistle blowing through the air -

Gray Wolf who visits our bedsides,
Whispers our fears
Softly,
Gently.

Black Sheep who nuzzles against us,
Comforts us
In our dreams.

Before I could speak,
I could listen.
Before I could see,
I could imagine,
I could feel.

Color,
Shape,
Warmth -
Watercolors flowing,
Blurring possibility.

My cry
Entering this world
Was not of sadness,
But of ecstasy.