# object.content
Lullaby for the Chosen Sun
I. Threshold You were eight months into this bright, baffling world— eight months of milk-breath and clenched wonder— when I met you. Not a thunderclap. Not a prophecy. Just a doorway inside my ribs opening on its quiet hinge the instant your eyes took hold of mine. Your mother—my beloved— set you into the air between us, and for a heartbeat the room went hushed, as if even the curtains leaned in.

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https://jeffreyfreeman.me/blog/lullaby-for-the-chosen-sun/

#Poetry & Literature #Freemo