the gift

Asleep, I held a small child in my hands, six weeks six months
We were at the beach, I think, and I said things to rouse a smile

The babe looked very happy, and I handed it back to its mother

I then dreamt I was myself a small child, no more than six

Sitting alone in an old porcelain bath, the room very quiet

I held a large gem the size of my hand. a flower cut into quartz

With small motions it seemed to hum and play a strange music

Sounding like windchimes or a dozen windup carillons
The craftsmanship seemed infinitely intricate, I marveled

And gently handed it back to the water