The fan blades spin large in your pupils,
imperturbable peepers as a pilot’s.
I am reflected in the corner of your eye,
feeding you, and we are just mesmerized, aren’t we?
Your thousand-yard stare to my closest attention.
As you gulp the last drops of formula,
I look down a glass telescope into your gullet.
Past the curled tongue and pink gums,
I can see you expand across your body
from a radiant of light therein.
Your vessel, something so small and still
that your warmth nearly burning through the blanket
makes me fear fever.
But this quickening in, the more startling.
All the matter of your making is here, but after
you’ve grown and cooled, who are you?
This stuff you are made of,
across what depths and orbits is it spun?
The big bang spread all things from one point,
and all there is now, forever, amen, was somehow inside.
I stare and wonder not at the vastness of space,
but at how little I can see through my lens.
The laws of your universe, they are my favorite guessing game.
I lift the bottle, and dregs of milk dot your face in constellation.