Song for my first child, Noah

This hole’s not made of wool

Nor fine linen fibers –

It’s the center of a spool

Or the space between two tigers.

What happens in this hole

Happens when you sigh,

Happens in an empty bowl

And in a windless sky.

I have ten between my toes

And seven in my head,

And two called open windows

Across from my bed.

This mixture of edges

Can only be found

When some color wedges

All the way round.

This hole's not made of wool

Nor fine linen fibers -- 

It’s the center of a spool

Or the space between two tigers. 

  -- published in The New Yorker, June 27, 1964