For years I dreamt you
my lost child, a face unpromised.
I gather you in, gambling,
making maps over your head.
You were the beginning of wish
and when I finally held you,
like some mother-cat I looked you over –
my dozy lone-traveller set down at last.
So much for maps,
I tried to etch you in, little stranger
wrapped like a Japanese doll.
You opened your fish-eyes and stared,
slowly bunching your fists bracing on air.
With kind permission from Katherine Gallagher