For a Newborn
We hear the first notes as we mewl them,
the insistence of air
shocking us all, timpani vibrating
as we sense the bright world.
We don’t know why we are here
no more nor less than what we are
and were before -
we root for the dark stalk, its dripping music
follow the milk song,
the echo of our mothers’ voices,
each mouthful a stay against the loss -
our skins raise mild white pustules in the light -
for the dark is never as dark again
and as we sleep our eyes roll back
to gaze at where we come from.