I start with an apology:
I’m sorry I didn’t write earlier
I took a while because I was afraid
that my words wouldn’t be good enough
to capture these miracles I’ve seen.
That is obvious now; they never will.

(Some friends used to say
in red lettered posters
that ‘done is better than perfect’
and they were right)

I write to tell you about the lessons I’ve taken
on the subject of time.

First, that the future does not exist,
yet you’ll imagine many futures,
like I do now,
thinking of future you.

Second, that there’s only now,
all that happens is at the present moment,
and you should be mindful of it - all else is waste.

Third, that memories are but a shadow of the present,
yet you’ll cherish some forever,
because they’re all that’s left
of a perfect past.

Fourth, that human time is not made of seconds
but rather of moments. 
In that sense you enlarged my existence
a thousand fold.

I collected some of our moments here
While your memory isn’t ready
and while mine hasn’t faded
These will go one day too
But for now we fight the fleetingness
with beauty.

I. Disarray and first bottle

Dry lips in the morning
Sore breasts which you wouldn’t take
A nurse that didn’t know the urgency of life
A cupboard impatiently opened
Pots and pans on the floor
A hastily opened box full of nutrition
Your first bottle
Relieved breaths

II. Drive

Never have I felt such clarity of purpose
as when doing things for you.
I drove to three cities because you needed me to
and no traffic or rain could bother me
Nothing would stop or distract me from my mission
to provide.

III. First Light

I remember watching the very first light appear
breaking one of our many sleepless nights
turning the dark sky grey
as the world turned, revealing itself
I held you in my arms then,
as I did many times before and after,
and understood everything.

IV. Warmth

I miss the time when you perennially wanted to be held
I’d walk around rooms everywhere,
In this continent or another
Sometimes I’d sing, or count in silence
And you were always so warm

V. Old new clothes

One day you wouldn’t fit
any single one of your clothes
When did you grow?
Were we not looking?
Your mother and I packed
everything, carefully, in a box
And hugged each other as the tears flowed

VI. Banana pure

Your first solid meal was banana pure
That must be quite common
A baby eating their first pure
But like many times since we met
I couldn’t really tell you why I teared up
It’s something about life
Rushing in, thunderously

VII. Past, present and future

I opened a door
And for a brief moment stepped out of time
My father was carrying me
I was carrying you
You were carrying a baby
May this cycle be repeated a thousand times.

VIII. Remote control, red balloon

You were always eager to explore
We encouraged you, of course,
But you struggled to do more
Like that day when you got
the remote control in one hand
and a red balloon in the other
and places to go
I asked you ‘what now’
And off you went
Walking by yourself