warm and strong
with it resting secure in the pit of my stomach
my legs pulled up to build a wall
while my arms trap heat around
this soft tender globe
andd all of life is in it
all the stretching future
of pulsing thoughts and actions
persons places things
all the nouns and dreams of
the thousands of years before me
and i claim them as my own
imprinting them with my face
my voice and words
my flights of passion and own dark fears
claiming it as i wrap around it still half-unconcious
as my responsibility to defend
and the the cold air comes in
sliding along my skin
and outlining me
a solitary form
cut off from all the world
by thousands of thrumming atoms
that are cold as they force space between
reminding me that lonely i
and this teeming world
are two foreign things
and of the two
i am not great
nor even worthy of the same sentence
but only a vague perchance
in this midst of this clearcut reality
that future worlds
i dreamt would come from me
springing forth and singing and raging and strong
were out of my hands completely
and not of my concern
nor i of theirs
so i ot out of bed
built my own layers of individuality
in oclour and texture and cut
and stumbled forth
like all the other dreamers
who in their half sleep
wrapped themselves around the world
to love and protect it in its weakness
only to be stripped of even its dreams
and left shadowless
in this world of black and white
what a wonderful
terrible
thing
to be a mother of dreamers
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