I watch for changes in reflected
skin under the lamplight.
What thoughts consume
the foetal mind, if not of teat,
then what kind of thrill
can your tiny brain perceive?
Not another move until my
wayward look, and there persists
the law of Sod, I miss
a limb slide from pancreas to spleen
across hepatic hills and through
the valley of my crushed intestine.
A vigil holds the sleepless night,
I gaze the silver-white shimmer
of skin breaking into early scars.
Sonja Broderick
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/shooting-stars/
