A Poem for Emma by Adam Lambdin
Layers of a steel drum are made from a single sheet
shaped in a concave bowl with surface,
note areas, and intertones as well.
My daughter, her biology is a mixture of mine and her mother’s,
Shaping rhythms, a tad unfamiliar,
yet she looks to me with perception
bringing intentional patterns based on tacit direction.
Conversely, algorithms from smart phones
Map facial recognition, reciprocating in artificial layering yet.
My child pulls away, making me reflect in ways I can’t predict nor control.
Psychological and hollow tones reverberate from me in her mind also.
Not just in music do we perceive the other, but in our self-awareness too.
In numbers abroad, three is a repeated kind of conclave made.
How manifestly is Divine wonder complete and expressed,
Who Himself Fathered all of us and others herein at work, in simple, daily moments, He alone is perfect yet.
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