My child sleeps peacefully and I whisper to her the concluding words from Mark Doty's exquisite poem "On Broadway":In the same way Ezekiel turned back to the benevolent stranger.
'I will write a poem for you tomorrow,'
he said. 'The poem I will write will go like this:
Our ancestors are replenishing the jewel of love for us.'
It is me who remembers into the past of grandmothers and grandfathers to accept this gift for her and simultaneously I postulate far into the future of adolescence to give it to her when she can consciously know and appreciate it. For all of my backwards and forwards reaching, she effortlessly embodies this jewel of love right here and right now.
Driving late at night at high RPMs with everything adjusted and tuned just right, the valve train on my car's engine sings to me the song of Aurelio Lampredi, Vittorio Jano, Edoardo Weber, Nuccio Bertone, Marcel Ghandini and a whole host of others who collectively have contributed to the immediate pleasure at hand. It is a beautiful thing.
My child sleeping peacefully tonight is a beautiful thing.
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