the garden greens

      then crisps

the broth

      boils and thickens

my child

      blooms from boy

to snowman to puddle

      from puddle to water-

bear to invisible

      from the pear of my womb

to plume of the ether

      elusive and still

fiercely mine, my blood

      whispered who this child

might become

      then wild, wilder, unwinding

among thistles

      lost along

the levee’s edge, whistling

      a racket of racquetballs

a rollercoaster rioting

      firework then gun-

smoke smell, a murmur homing

      into blue cocoon

my child moons into some other

      night’s song

their call deepens, air ululates

      not force nor voice

but riding the bridge

of larynx

      of should

my child new each time