I hope
all your mornings
are lazy mornings,
sleep soaked and
ripe with loamy imaginings,
that you

                            are

             carried

back
in the arms of those who love you
                            back

                  to

yourself,

I hope
all your days
are cosy days,
a slow breath in

and                out

to expel
yesterday’s trauma

to go on
fresh
but not unscathed
warm
but not newborn,

I hope
all your nights
are wistful nights,
that you look up
not down

feel the air
between dirt and star,

follow the sweet
hush of the street

all
         the
                   way

to your doona.