The Oracle always knows. Last days of waiting.
I listen in this morning’s damp light
for the child coming
through the rhythms
of the air of another world.
Cat watches for the coming
like a fish in a bowl
a bird in the sky
and I remember those times
raw and tender that dripped with joy
tumbling like spring clouds
full of tiny hands curled and perfect
the milky noises unabashed
and oceans of laughter.
The stars sailed slow then
in their course
and we understood
the wild voice of the night.