I wish God only loved the old:

wrinkled lines of sage,

mild tastes, soft clothing.

I wish God didn't so love

the opaline perfume that surrounds a baby's milky breath

and the flicker in a child's eyes.

I wish God loved knees that creak as your round the stairs,

instead of

strong lungs that breathe

short legs that run

and a heart that pumps.

I wish God wasn't so infatuated with human's first trembling breath.

I wish He didn't so love the young,

so He wouldn't take the children away.