Here is an hourglass of our time, 
two spirits swirling like a carnival ride —
one with silver strands slowly coming undone, 
and slips a light year away as we sit palm to palm —
the other a newborn girl looking out at the world 
and smelling sweet as Texas strawberry pie. 
 
Here is where these two spirits meet —
at the kitchen table where all sins are atoned 
and we wait with teacups half full,
watching a thousand crystal grains settle into place
to form only a minute’s worth of passage in time.
 
One minute of life almost done and the other just begun —
as paper thin skin hands turn to stardust under hospital lights
and a newborn is carried home for the very first time —
this is right before the hourglass is flipped once more 
and life is reassured by the sadness, the strain,
the change and the flight.