However she comes to us,
glass-engendered,
slipping from her temporary womb
like a tenement dweller
into arms kindly or clinical,
she will be ours,
bone of our bone,
blood of our blood,
and our predicament.
She will remind us that
all we sum up, predict, and blueprint
must still fill inexplicably with soul.
She is the subject of her voyage,
come to us from depths
we cannot hope to fathom
up the anchor-line of wonder.
Like the coming of every child
she comes announcing what otherwise
we would not know.