Baba in heaven.
Soft, sure sound on my lips,
Baba.
Who else has a name like yours?
Ordinary perfection, playfully bobbing across the pale
blue puddle of our all-of-us existence,

Baba.

In the flatlands and prairies,
let the land itself wrinkle and rise,
hold up your name high like peak, other,

Baba.

Let wind wish it, dash across dried mountain
on dandelion dare, carry it east and west 
and to each sidewalk crack and fescue lawn unsuspecting, 
whisper it far where the 
world ends and the expanse begins.


Baba.

Let the seas find it floating,
hem and haw and then with one voice
spray and rise and send your name skyward,
a thousand droplets singing

Baba.

Let clouds catch each syllable with pinkie toes
and turn, babes to the cosmos, giggling
rolling, backs to the earth, and fling
a thousand repeatings up to the cold
til sky sends iced confetti to melt on all our tongues,

Baba.