27 years 2 months 14 days Till this one. For Antonia Sinclair Moments ripen themselves to suit the perceiver over time, Creating clouded canopies till their fruition. And by suiting time it’s purpose All within magnetic range is appropriated, Dissolved, Dismantled, Divulged till Designed. Quiet winds hold sway and push then Blow, beat by beauty by beats blowing beauty. Crystal clear mountainous tears swirl in irises Calling the drip dropping mist to condense. Catching waves by surprise, by the swell, By towering bodies of green, by these pupils, Dilating, Dreaming, Declaring Devotion till Delivered. Imaginary grains in the sands of time sitting still Inflating into cobblestones while the perceiver Swoons, Surfs, Saturates, and Sinks into Countless numbers of Green, Yellow, Brown, Red leaves Around, around, away from the window I look around and hear her Giggling Glad Gratitude laughing languidly like A six year old should, Genius Girl child of silliness On her birthday breakfast babblings, Bouncing on cushions with Care Bears Ringing a lost smile from me and much needed then. So long the preparations, So convoluted the measures, So swift its passing us, So loud its echoes, So deep the trails, So sweet it sails us Past another sweet, sweet second Till this one.