the poem i want to write

What I want is to write
the unfolding of you:

the unfurling of limbs,
the eyes seeking a sphere
a hair wider than before,
and for minutes at a time;

the peaceful awake that takes in the world.

It comes out flat
like a piece of paper
with no mysterious folds, no wrinkles
yet to fill out
no raspberry-soft skin
that almost can't be felt,
it is that soft.

The quiet, honey-slow
minutes of watching
you yawn and mouth the air
twitch a corner smile and
circle into a perfect "o"
don't fit on a page.

They are both too heavy and
too light
to be described in a way that is not too precious,
but there is nothing
not-precious
about a baby.