For Noura Walid Abdulsalam Shaheen, 0 Years Old

 

The world multifoliate & fists clutched

To heart, your fingers yet too small to point. Eyeing

In unnamed wonder the beginnings of a world

Trying to declare itself. Every

Thing parcel of passing stream, until word

Carves it out because it is itself. Did

You know leaf? Strawberry? Songbird?

A bomb? We know the world in such brief

Aperture, & yours flashed rubble-grey,

Whirring & whorl. I wish I could hold you

Here, & smile, & point to the Swainson’s thrush,

To the wild rose. Say gust when the wind

Stirred. Sing words you could not attach

To meaning. There is a vocabulary

For beauty, Noura, too. There are words

For tender things. I sing your name with them

This morning.

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