Eyes, fingertips, tongues
form one from two.
tiny palms creased with foreknowledge,
DNA whirling proteins
into the plot of a new story.
Despite vast mathematical improbabilities
here you are.
Your mother’s hundred thousand eggs
your father’s five trillion sperm,
chance of your existence.
Our gladness is incalculable.
Laura Grace Weldon
Find more poetry in my collection, Tending.