The midwife took a photo
of your cord
where it hung,
attached at the furthest
edge by
a scant few
precious vessels.
Strands of life,
they tell your story:
a tale of enough,
a braided rope of
love, joy, and plenty
far right of reason,
and smack in the middle
of God's good grace.
Bless you, boy!
Be graced, good son,
to cast your steadfast line
to sea, and catch
all those who need a love
that won't let go,
and know:
Your mother's thread,
the Father's hand,
the Spirit's breath
will hold you still.
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