Time is distilled to pure waiting,
outwaiting that tiny mouth
yawning in centimeters,
unwilling to stay
closed against its forming life.
Its impatience moors her to a bed,
head lower than hips.
Gravity tries to take her hostage,
but she floats out with the tide of a
fitful waking sleep,
a ship in far night space
doing lazy rotations in the freedom of zero-G.
Her passenger feels the lightness,
turning on his golden tether,
argonaut on an ancient journey.
Belly pulsing, she glides
into the waiting dark.
