The curvature I anticipate in your entrance, tentative as I am,
augurs the newness to be born of me one day
in a cataclysmic expulsion, sounding out around the cosmos.
Unfounded planar as you are,
you are not surrounded by doubt,
your hills rise through shadow,
peeking through the curtain toward the earth—
how round and proud you will be!
And how I worry sick about
The seed deep within me waiting to emerge.
You and I will elide, embrace, enfold again next month, next year,
and will flow regularly,
and ebb in order to flow again.
Because our children never fully mature.
*The new moon marking the start of the month of renewal
This poem was published in Volume 10, issue 1 of The Deronda Review, 2023.
August 23, 2006