Perfect, precious girl,
ancient eyes a friend had said
My dancer child, my swan queen.
Tall wisp of wiry strength,
priestess shaking the cloud
of your dark hair.
When you first moved, you leapt.
Your dad let your tiny self
fall at (I thought) a frightening angle,
but you laughed for more.
We pushed you high on swings,
us low to the ground, an underduck.
We flew you, your arms linked with ours,
along the sidewalk.
The long thin strength of feathers in you.
