To Myfanwy
Beautiful child of the waters born in a white room: here I sing you in hope out of all measure and weight. When they wrapped you and wound you, living, only your round face flickering gently,
small starlit fire-face –
everyone said, for they knew:
you are as lovely as though
that fullness of two days’ moons
had melted your cheeks,
and your busy eyes had nursed
upon dazzling light and your ears
read runes written by birds
in the leap month’s frozen snow;
like pink cherries ripening
and rings rolling
that know no end, no telling,
only sunlight and singing.
Beautiful child of the waters, wake me at night in the darkness only to tell me you love me: unweighed, unmeasured and awaiting in joyful and daylong delighting the meaning hidden to meet you.