is the cold
dark night
of Shepherding
shivering by the stable
door
not perceiving
what I have seen
not understanding
what I have heard
I want
the swaddling blanket
of a baby born
of a baby born
breast on which to rest
my weary head
the child-cry in me
am I past all that?
and destined now
for mothering the child
fathered
fathered
folded in my arms
resting her head
to sleep upon me
the trusting trusted
the needy needed
