Objectively Speaking
There is a look of knowing
on my yet-to-be walking
granddaughter’s face
as, new to this, she stands alone
in a great big kitchen
small fingers spread,
dancing.
I am left
to wonder at her wisdom
while in this moment my neurons fire,
my pulse quickens,
and these imperfect thoughts
transfer electrochemical impulses
from my brain down to my fingers
to an electronic page,
via a keyboard,
in a vain attempt
to recreate the grace
mirrored on the surface
of her immersion
in the music.
