i stare through my
reflection
in the window
of this room
it's almost four and
the night is orange
the birds all
dream of worms and
the worms all dream
of me
but it's not that time
yet no
it's not that time
there's work what
needs doing
in this room tonight

she lays there
green and tired and
thirsty
and words that were
passed days earlier
now sting me
in all the right places
at all the wrong times
but i never pretended
to be a nice guy

and she lays there
all lollipops and ice chips
and i stand
curious and calm
and envious
she will be a passage
that i can never be
but for words
and even those
fail me
at times like these
a passage
that will sprout a new blossom
for my family tree

i knew she would
be a girl
because she told me
in a dream
and my aunt saw her
in a crib
when i still was
a boy with dreams
so i stand here
curious and calm
and sorry that
i am not anxious

the breathing began
and my hand folded under
her hand
and she squeezed forgiveness
into my numb palms
like coins for the dead
when they cross the river
and private glances passed
while the breathing
shortened

a burst of breath
and she came
into focus
her
and the blood
and the dark oozings
and she was here
screaming herself
to the world
I AM HERE

born into violence
and beauty
and she saw her
and i was filled with envy
and thoughts hit
the backs of my eyes
like fire
and i knew
none of it mattered
the sin
the country
the past
the tomorrow
the birds
the worms
the orange nights
the gray afternoons
the giving
and taking
the lows
the lowers
ma
pa
nothing
because in the end
i would be dirt
dancing with the roots
of roses and daisies
and i will send them up
shooting through the earth
just as this girl
who passed from her
to blossom from my tree
will shoot through this life
and i know that
we will have won
over death

the envy passes
as she opens her eyes
to the world
before it becomes ugly
with wisdom
and the calm curiosity
is evicted by hopeful anxiety
that a man has for a new child
and i thanked her
thanked both of them
for sharing this night
with me
as i stood there
not man enough
to cry