The nursery is duckling soft,
imagined lullabies,
a nightlight’s glow,
a paddle of ducks on the wing.
My little hatchling,
cracked too soon,
a hairline fracture,
the membrane ripped from the shell.
I am yoked to losing you,
too early my beautiful.
The milky film of sleep breaks
into remembrance.
My broken husk,
the nursery door letters
that would spell out your name.
Not a nightlight but a candle.
Not a blanket but a snowdrop cluster.
Come my darling.
Let me sing you to sleep.