Upon Seeing an Ultrasound Photo of an Unborn Child 
    Tadpole, it's not time yet to nag you
    about college (though I have some thoughts
    on that), baseball (ditto), or abstract
    principles. Enjoy your delicious,
    soupy womb-warmth, do some rolls and saults
    (it'll be too crowded soon), delight in your early
    dreams — which no one will attempt to analyze.
    For now: may your toes blossom, your fingers
    lengthen, your sexual organs grow (too soon
    to tell which yet) sensitive, your teeth
    form their buds in their forming jawbone, your already
    booming heart expand (literally
    now, metaphorically later); O your spine,
    eyebrows, nape, knees, fibulae,
    lungs, lips... But your soul,
    dear child: I don't see it here, when
    does that come in, whence? Perhaps God,
    and your mother, and even I — we'll all contribute
    and you'll learn yourself to coax it
    from wherever: your soul, which holds your bones
    together and lets you live
    on earth. — Fingerling, sidecar, nubbin,
    I'm waiting, it's me, Dad,
    I'm out here. You already know
    where Mom is. I'll see you more directly
    upon arrival. You'll recognize
    me — I'll be the tall-seeming, delighted
    blond guy, and I'll have
    your nose. 

                          Thomas Lux