Was It Always This Purple?

We laughed into the bowl
of the night
and you were born,
a new constellation,
burst of star and sinew
We laughed
and God laughed back,
tumbling you down the
mountainsides
to pull the moss from
our eyes, our ears
Was it always this purple
in the evening? Was the air
this heady? Did the seeds
dance across the water
before, flouncing
their silky skirts?
Has there ever been
a symphony as sweet,
as complete
as your baby voice
singing the sun
into our mornings?

Christine A. Marie
Sitka,
Alaska, USA