SHEPHERD

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What I feel 
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
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
folded in my arms

resting her head
to sleep upon me

the trusting trusted
the needy needed

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