The crisp letters of your name,
the energy behind your eyes.

You’re all
you’re meant to be,

chrism on the brow,
a reminder of the holiest,
new day: awakening.

After the floods,
before the angels fell,
when we were barefoot and young.

Before the crest of the water rose
above our foreheads,
leaving us sublime.

Forgotten amid detritus,
afloat among flotsam.

Ferrying back home.
Downriver.
On a toy boat,
a makeshift raft
adrift on warm sands,
the smell of the coral
saline, sweet herbal
sprayed rush of the surf on our tongues, the foam about our ankles.

Our footsteps along the edge
never fade.

And you twirl and you dance in the foam,

slowly with grace in the white caps,

your face basks in sky,

a salutation
to the brilliance that you are,

to the day
that you chose to be.

Uniquely you,
and I see most clearly

my love for you
is sooner than now.

To be christened as such
is our promise.