Just before locomotion
you are the fattest cherub
on the tallest ceiling
in the best basilica.

Wings would fold themselves into your folds
which in themselves are honey
you are flesh run to laughter
and promise in a small compass

which will never be repeated.
Already you are raising yourself, straining
to use one leg as a prop.
The folds will fall from it

as you rear up and crawl
you will walk and they will fall like silk.
All this manna gathered together
cherubs with wings and arrows

in the gestures of your hands
your beaming expression
your taking everything into your mouth
honey to honey, to make honey.

Elizabeth Smither