My Daughter Sees a Starling on the Lawn I thought to tell you how the bird was called, What symbol circumscribed the creature’s being; Intending to give your mind a better hold On the unsought resplendence it was seeing. But having gestured towards an utterance, I caught the purple wonder in your stare, Reflecting an unreflective jubilance Of which your thoughts could hardly be aware; And lest too early knowledge should destroy The primal reason pulsing through your frame, I held my tongue, and left you to your joy, Sufficient with the grace before the name. My Daughter Smiles in Her Sleep Some echo maybe of the simple themes Recurrently unwinding from your toys; Some analog to listening in dreams That represents your mother’s tranquil voice; The cadence of my breathing, or the plush, Recumbent pleasure of your swaddling cloth; Or else the feeding that has left you flush And settled to a mute, appropriate sloth; Whichever of these, the impulse that it loosed To flit about your organizing brain Will reify to a vision well adduced Sometime among your memories that remain; A kindly apparition, lurking in The layered shadows of your consciousness – A haunting and a comfort to you, when Your years are tried by tedium or duress. Then you will wonder how a certain scent, A certain tune, or certain fall of light, Can, with their own quotidian accidents, Wake longings tending towards the infinite; Or why some vague impression half recalled Out of the general hunger of your youth, Can leave your unsuspecting soul enthralled With intimations of another truth; And from the scattered threads of these perceptions Your mind will weave a sign of paradise, Consoling you, in its sublime conception, Out of a future where its promise lies. So hackneyed legends tell of mariner’s wives Waiting, in hope, along a monotonous coast For husbands who already lost their lives When the schooner that they traded in were lost; And how they conjured to their minds his form, His kindly ways, and high gentility, Who even then was lurching in the storm, And the fury of an irretrievable sea. Mark Anthony Signorelli is a poet and author whose work has appeared in a variety of journals, including Modern Age, Arion, The Evansville Review, and the University Bookman. He is a member of the Academy of Philosophy and Letters.