Going Home.



Nothing could

would

stop us

The sagging limbs of night
heavy against my back

Darting through the blur
cars sped to destinations
beyond the reach of my comprehension

We were coming home
through Michigan rain
wind driven through the windscreen
soaking our joy with
sleeting responsibilities.

Your hands
creating a vessel
resting ceramic around
a swelling belly

Beauty is the sound
of vomiting in the morning
my hand
a conduit of care
resting against your back
soothing sounds issuing
from my throat
to float up and against your fear
and drive it back down

We are concave
smooth sides
hewn from black onyx
slicked with humanity
awaiting the font of child


And nothing

could

would

stop us.