Chinese New Year Poem by Indigo Hawkins

gossamer and fluttering, his hand
grazes his throat as he gushes about language,
and I remember he is not a child, no matter
how animatedly he speaks. truly fascinated now,
I listen as the delirious paper dragons, gleeful and
well-lit, his eyes, suffuse a delicate steadiness. he smiles
and the sparks imbue gunpowder with the grace of fireworks
crackling amidst the silk of his sooty gaze.
this february morning we all begin our lives as one.
tonight even strangers can be born into the moon.