quiet grind

(moon ii)

maybe your labor toward
and into light

is so routine

its lost its ability

to be a witness

to everyone

except lovers, and

the mad,

and

mothers,

or poets who,

like li po

go into his boat

on the water

and mistake

your wavy light

for a road

and stepped onto you.

and are lost.

VIII.

it's a labor slow

a labor deliberate—

and you and me.

and once, after the too long drive

to the hospital

I’d be admitted no wider

than one centimeter.

but now they know that slow,

slow water of your world

drips out into mine…

we’d be monitored,

you’d be echoed,

and the i.v. of pitocin

coaxed you slowly.

and we’d walk and we’d sit,

we’d rest and we’d walk  and we’d sit

as though we were waiting

for news after a cave collapse

we waited

thirty hours like this

and then an epidural.

and even more hours...