In the beginning there was
the dust of atoms.
The horizon without a sun.
A breath for which there were no lips
to breathe.
And God said, there is no Michael happiness,
no Michael laughter,
the flowers have no Michael to see them,
smell their faces.
But there was a Michael somewhere,
someday to be loved.
There was a Michael meant to be.
Before you lived you were born,
and the world is seven years bigger
than it was,
still smaller than you are huge.
Brighter than it is bright,
and how beautiful Michael is!
You are seven years
higher than the sky is high,
boy so remarkable!
Happy Birthday.