Our daughter is allergic to blue. You ask the doctor to show us the bird’s-eye view, the balloon, a photo taken from space. A cold satellite rotates as our omniscient eyeball. Invisible stars live inside her heart. Soon all of my tattoos will fade beneath the ocean of age. Her still-small fingers reach, even in sleep, for my belly button. Our herniated connection. She is our ether and we are distant moons, come together in extended orbit.