He Grows Up

This child. This beautiful child.

He is growing in front of our eyes. Each day, he stretches and moves differently. His muscles grow. He becomes just a bit more coordinated. His eyes can't yet see clearly, but they search nevertheless. He lies next to the window and stares out and up toward the light. He reaches instinctively for his mother. He responds to touch.

Rise up, child of earth
Let life rise up in you,
full-term, new-born.
Time enough in wondrous darkness,
Echoed sounds of voices, stirrings,
splashings of new life.
Relinquish to memory this one mystery
we yearn to know and will again
in after-death.
So much latent
still to rise
Until our rising lifts us to a depth
that questions every truth
we've ever known.

Mud-stirred of first-clay.
Plaything of a potter who fell in love
with her hands' work.
Blessed be her handiwork.
Blessed be the work of her hands.
Blessed be.

-Pat Kozak