Light filtering dream from memory; your bed is like a great field petaled white. The trunk and limbs of me, like the cove of an apple tree. I woke early and can smell the coffee you brew downstairs, hear the making of food. I imagine how you will come to me bearing coffee and toast, the way my grandfather brought my grandmother her breakfast in bed. Here, your daughter lies in the shelter of my body, curled in upon herself. Like the calf I found in the meadow those many years ago, quiet and waiting, unsure if I am the enemy or the haven she has sought.