I. The sound of the moment is a pterodactyl call.
II. You have given your father the gift of song.
III. Grins turn your gray eyes into crescents.
IV. You follow each cluster of sneezes with a coo.
V. Your hands and feet run cold to the touch.
VI. Your belly button is both an innie and an outie.
VII. You are in cahoots with your great-grandmother.
VIII. Your lost eyelashes dust my chest.
IX. My hair twines between your fingers.
X. Your upset addressed, you regain repose.
XI. Your crevices are lint traps.
XII. You are a feast of delicacies.
XIII. Your finger nails grow astonishingly fast.
Too often I assume an overfamiliarity with the world. I look away and forget the miracle of it all. I turn back and the sacred mystery washes over me once more. It is a wonder that attention is so hard to sustain.
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