rambling homes with faucets
that drip the whole night
and stain white enamel
leave me mumbling, lost
in long pubescent hallways
where white walls are colored
and smeared by wax crayons,
rainbowed extensions of stubby
pink fingers
as the ghost
of your smell
floats in thin air
and our unborn child
beckons with grace
once hidden goodness
back into life,
its treasures unfolded
to open and welcome
a day of soft peace
and continual stillness
a fabric woven
into cloth of sad
memory
yet leavened by
gold threads
of surprise
and dear time’s
ripening green
moments
ready for action
and the pure
telling of truth.
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