As babies we were held skin to skin
(Perhaps why the feeling is so distantly familiar
Like the tune of a music box you heard as a child
Like simple words sung at night
Like the sound of a voice through a tin can on a wire
Like the sound of the birds in your hometown)
It is a transfusion of sunlight
It is better than a campfire
It is the feeling of being a lamp-lit drifting dust mote on
A breeze
You carry the weight of the earth
But have the translucency and lightness of a photon