Seeing by Sonlight

Seeing by Sonlight

In the void of space was a languishing frozen waste,
full of silence, dust, grime, and a few rocks.
Gravity sucked.
Dust clogged, grime gritted its teeth,
and a few of the specks joined at the bridge.
Repeat, in an infinite loop, and a big ball of dust became hard,
rigid with anticipation, and shuddered in an explosion
that burst forth with the light of day.
Son, light of my middle days,
the birth of stars has nothing to do with your birth,
saving only that it was a natural prerequisite,
a selection factor that nature provided to locate you here.
As I watched you on the bed today,
intently eyeing your mother's breasts, eyes, hair,
and the wall behind her,
I thought about how small you are, how new,
and how much you have to learn.
I mean, the whole world is new for you.
You get to experience the thrill of discovery,
where I only see the monotony of many repetitions.
I see the symbol, the label,
and you experience the thing as it is.
Later you can learn to analyse.
Today, as I sit here analysing your vision,
I can learn to see.

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