My three-day-old daughter
draws intricate witch's symbols
in the air with her hand.
She sleeps, and I see
from the movement of her eyelids,
how frail files from former dockings
fade away in the server
beyond her dreams.
And new ones are uploaded:
picture-riddles and games,
software that reconsiders
smells, colors, and words,
and her first dream cards.
My three-day-old daughter
draws intricate witch's symbols
in the air with her hand,
opens her eyes and watches at me
from somewhere very far away
with her utterly incredulous
martin's gaze, so dark.
As if she were meeting me
once again, for the first time,
after many a long year.

Translated from Estonian by Adam Cullen