I make her my own.
I choose her. I make the choice to find her
through all the debris and twisting hallways and
tunnel rooms; I choose her in between the worlds of old
and new; I choose her, oceanic love and my manic care rising.
And again, I choose him. My son will be no less mine.
We’ll venture out with pirates and mermaids by day
and by night, I will trace the lineage passages in the Word
parading with shepherd kings and misfit pieces.
I will trace the blood my adopted savior inherited sans biology,
knowing we adopt for He first adopted us.
I will kiss my sleeping baby’s forehead and say, this, my child
is the one who cultivated in me this heart that found you,
who knit our hands together
under this fleece blanket. Listen in peace.
Who knows if legacy of billions of years would have deceased
if not for us who cultivate all else?
With this stubborn heart, I will draw forth a new beginning.