Your first word was Door. First, that is, after the hoped-for Mama and Dada; A curious experiment in sound, Out on a limb: Door. Your lips would take milky leave of home sweet home, The dam of your tongue poised to Flick the inner soft pink roof; Rage, fear, delight, Flame-fanned by chesty bellows, Birthed in dark dungeons of breath: Door. Flexed fingers, outstretched arm: You loved to make a weathercock, And point beyond the dawn’s open portal, Out, out into springtime lushness; World beyond self, A hiding place for monsters. Delight, fear, rage, Retreat to hoped-for, Mama, Dada, Door.