Crepuscule

My baby’s lapis eyes are quick to laugh, her soul
a magnet picking up the filings of joy in our lives,
pressing them together into solid chunks of goodness.
I don’t like to lie to my daughters, or even to dissemble.
But I yearn to protect the too short mirth of childhood,
keep the worst of the world at bay. Here in the gloaming,
anxiety sparks at the margins of my maternal smile,
shaking the foundation just a bit in spite of my assurances.
How do I explain war to a pure heart? Greed and hubris
to one who shares without hesitation?

I am buffeted by the sense of unknowing, unable to get
my bearings without the sun or stars. A feeling
like motion sickness without the certainty
of a distant horizon and firm footing.
This twilight offers no hint of what will follow:
a sheet pulled over the slack features of resignation?
Or incandescence, as the world springs to life.