For Natalie Jo

Sometimes in my dreams, small, naked babies

are dropping from the sky like

slow-opening flowers,

like you, Natalie,

who have come here to blossom

on the prairies of our dreams,

new, and tiny, and fragile,

and totally unafraid

of all that is racing towards you

faster than the sound of hooves,

faster than the darkening sky,

faster than anything

the mind can hold,

but not as fast

as the sound of Love, Natalie,

which today has no sound

but the sound of your name.