Imprinting Poem by June Stepansky

I once read a story about an infant
who was neglected by his parents,
and who saw from his bed
outside his window
a crane working on the building next door,
and interacting with that crane each day
he developed crane-like movements
and crane-like language.

So, perhaps, do all of us
through our infant pores
imprint escape, or anxiety, or safety,
just below the level of reason
that comforts or plagues us
all our lives.