Cosset

you’re formless, curled but limb-bound
in fluid and minerals, enzymes and code
as we place our hands on your crib
and ache to feel your toes.

We toast to your deliverance
from persecution and evil,
but then you’ll be pink and pale
– born to the right stable.

Good for you, good for us,
we’ll dream and count the blessings
one by one, as many as the beats
in your heart to come.

I stare at the monitor, grey shapes
the weight of a coconut. I watch Zeus,
sucking her thumb in the muffled warm;
suspended at this other-me you induce.