Claire Cries
I thought shed take my life
or break my mind
with pain of her barging
a way from me.
The
blood ran down beneath,
no shriek sufficed
her, whose conquering head
lies on my breast.
Her satisfactions brief
but all of peace
for a while. My blue veins
run to feed her.
Wet
petal lips pushed out,
no words, no smile,
know nothing but my own
clay-dark nipple.
This
tiny head as frail
as a snowdrop
trembling in icy wind,
green flame through ice;
this tiny head, the creased
seed of mountains,
opens, sucks the world in,
lets out its cry.