For Ezra

Visiting you in the foreign country of the just-born
Country of my blood citizenship
I speak to you in the language of touch
The language of breath
Practice of rocking

You smell like hot milk
The moment around you is curved
You are heavy with light

I love above all your fontanel and its pulse
Below all I love the purpose of you
Wise gazer
Your long fingers looking for a piano  

You, Ezzie, are still all of us
You are the sweet Mama and Dada of your making

I surf the waves of your particles
Entangled across 3 thousand miles

                -- Vancouver-New York, February/March 2013