Birth

The tremors begin, not a worry
at first, just a faint hiss between

the inspiration-expiration song

of the lungs and the heartbeat's

verdant "wish-wish, wish-wish."

But then the cataclysm.

A terrible hammering begins

and a rent forms in the world

where before there was continuity.

Brave little pioneer, sick with speed,

you are cast out into noisy dry light.

You vomit a mouthful of water,

then give yourself up to the void

of those few seconds where

your whole life will happen

before you again taste the ambrosia

of your mother and are saved.