The Light
You are composed of heavenly light and shade,
arms raised like Caravaggio’s Saint Paul
in his Conversion on the Road to Damascus.
Your hands reach into the surgeon’s light.
I am relegated to the shadows
like Saul’s servant, holding the horse’s head,
a role of unenlightened comforter,
as you focus, blind to all else,
fingers raised as if blessing,
beckoning the light of our daughter
into this world.