Child, you contain the magic of bees.
That same gravity that pulls them circling into the hive,
that keeps electrons in their orbits,
and heavens from drifting into silence
is concentrated in you.

Out of the car's chamber
you burst into the yard
energy springing into its natural atomic shape
a whirling particle molecule dervish
moment of chaos inertia
flailing unicycle of nuclear fuzz
wheeling laughter and hope
toward the breathless expectation of joy.