So Far

The space between those baby fingers and toes

When I ask,

“How big is Vincent?”

Sanity buried under his cheerios,

sprouting daisies that are bent

My tingles when Michael dances

Haphazard hula hooping

with octopus-arms

Reaching his safety in my mind’s trenches

Trusting our windchimes

and door alarms

Having the space to let both of them in

Taking shelter in my motherhood,

finding my lover in the mess

My privilege to awaken and begin

Their hearts and my heart beating;

there is no address

There is a song, but

there is no address