Mudra Boy

I have written this poem for our lovely son Davin. He is one and a half years old and he loves puddles.


In a puddle in a dream
considering reality
with my feet I touch
earth mixed with water
my mothers face
is a moving imprint in clay

She who gives me my boots
and the truth
every moment of everyday
she moves and I do
here, in standing still

I observe the firedragon
in my chest
my breath
a dangling paper bird
watching my stillness
my being like a stone
my two fists

I see life
where the sun reflects
I might get dirty.