An Image of God

At twenty three weeks,

Our baby begins to breathe.

I wonder if it makes

His small ribs sore

I wonder if this week

He grows his soul,

Or is it in the moment 

When his eyes will flood with light,

Air swells his tiny chest,

And invisible fills the visible,

Or is it in the moment,

When a single cell is two,

A relation so substantial

That it has a substance, too

- An Image of God.

Regardless,

I pray it may be like his ears and nose,

And all his life his soul forever grows.