New Born

The first thing I did against my will is see light. Older, in my mother’s belly with a good mind, I sometimes dreamed different kinds of darkness. I kicked, had sweet dreams and nightmares something like death, unborn happiness, blind hallucinations, memories I can’t name that still push me to act with unborn hands, all before breathing. What last thing will cross my mind after last rights and wrongs? They say the grand finale is like sleep, I may feel love’s nuts and bolts unscrewing — it’s best to be held tight. A pillow does not kiss. May I never waver in peaceful unmindfulness. I’ve seen passionate suffocation, I’ve felt exquisite pain. Far better doggerel: “Nurse, nurse, I’m getting worse!” Undone, I’d like my last thoughts to rhyme: I did not lend you my love. The end.