Everything I Know Must Be Passed On
by Charles Levenstein

The day starts in fog,
the wind blows in vaporous gusts.
The leaves love this gentle touch.
All life thrives in an island's humid breath.

What can I call these hours
before I am ready to join the world?
Post-dream, pre-breakfast.

The whistle calls of waking birds:
for the first time my life is filled with goldfinches
who linger for breakfast and play.

I hear Emily's steps as she descends
for her morning read. Today she wants
to talk books, tell me what she likes about
the story. I cannot resist teaching her,
as though everything I know must be
passed on.

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