Equinox
        (for a nine-month-old daughter)

Somewhere between
the magnolia's poise
and the lit house
where you are sleeping —
arms raised either side of your head
fingers curled as you parachute
through a night sky
cleared now of the day's sharp showers —

I feel the earth's pause:

the tree composing itself like a bride
as she balances her perfect hair
before the service,
before you begin your lifelong tilt
in favour of air, of light
each morning
fresh as white silk
landing you gently a little further away.

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Copyright © 2018 Esther Morgan All rights reserved
from The Wound Register
Bloodaxe Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission