Brenna, you are a small sweet potato
dropped into the lap of the gods.
The joy of being glistens in your dark eyes
like a diamond in a coal face.
Daily, your personality takes shape
from the wet clay of your baby heart.
Yours is the funbrightness legacy
of the love of adventure and
the adventure of love.
Your heart beats in syncopation with
the quick, bright, generous hearts
of your mother and father.
Their love pumps your little lips to laughter.
And now you have a godfather,
elected by the dictatorship of devotion.
We have driven miles of smiles together
in the soft, Spring sunshine of Santa Barbara.
Your hand, a miracle in miniature,
curls in possum tail trust around my finger.
It’s lucky I don’t know how lucky I am.