My daughter is the careless edge
Of smile I wear, a facial shrug that lays aside
The done and not.
She is the now of just
A minute, the stamping foot of childhood
That demands the ever present.
Her gift to me is simple:
She can dimple time, the way
Other children press a chocolate's center
To guess its flavor,
Laughing so hard that time capitulates.
There's a momentary crumple, it bends,
Rebounds, and I've gained
A second on the world.