More rich foam: its first meal
        still warm and the child just born
        reaches across the wake
        for its sweet mountain stream
        sinking a few feet from its lips

        Her body traced, the grass
        as blades still thrill the circus crowds
        --she doubles-up his thin blindfold :asleep
        he trains her arms to fold in time

        Each child as the moon
        still clinging to its mother
        --already your closed eyes
        hang like rain: lodestars
        drinking the Earth weightless
        and Death with each wet breath