In the days of seafaring yore, in a candied littoral time, my parents shared a love for wingsails; propelling their craft on the surface of gentle waters.
It was here my father navigated me into existence, by taking my mother for a long enchanted boat ride.
And like a hook and eye, they so clasped and rowed into the boundless deep. The tender rhythm of their waves stirring a rivulet that would come to be called me.
Floating in this colostrum bed underneath the heart's thicket, I settled to sleep; dreaming of cradle song and breastmilk.
My unborn hands and feet routinely practiced swimming toward the open shore; until that day when a familial voice called.
And there in the dilation of a growing current, I sprang forth; thirsting for their love from my very first cry.
