Poem for a Godson
My thoughts form a silent circle around you, equally anxious
not to put weight on you, or to leave you too alone.
Already you object to our world and we fail to guess
what troubles you. Your mother would remove it if she knew. Not I.
I have hopes that you will be like her (but not entirely), a world-leaper,
and like your father -- his bright eyes, his mouth.
I hope that your cruelties will at least be blind
and you then open your eyes, able to live without denying them.
I hope you will know love from its stem in your heart
and allow nothing to prevent it growing naturally
beyond yourself. I hope that you will find beauty where it lives and is free
in plain things.
For now you are our hazelnut, sweet and grumpy.
I'll keep these hard hopes to myself, and be your plaything.