Birth

Smiling, we climbed
To our cradles
Through funnels of nature
At its best

Snug meanderings
Following
The silver lace
Of light

A wash of colour
Blanching eyes
Reaching for air
For things without form

Uncertain of the space
We occupied
Chancing each limb
Taking turns of the senses

Sight granting
The crest of birth
Borne with pride
The curve of her production

Beneath our mothers bleeding
I saw a lions mouth gaping
And forgiveness and regret
Was the tamers saviour