And Finished knowing – then – (after “I felt a Funeral, in my Brain” by Emily Dickinson)

I conjured a childbirth, in the air,
and nurses all askew
stood standing – standing – till the dream
seemed real enough to chew.
 
And when the babe escaped,
a gossip, like a whisper –
tip-toed – tip-toed – till it screamed
and the room began to quiver.
 
And then the silence dropped a pin
to prick the babe’s left heel
with those same wings of wax, again,
the sun – began to reel.
 
As all the earth was deafened
the babe melted to the floor,
the noise, the voice, some heated
lies, opened humanity’s door –
 
And then the infant vaporized
and took to the sky, my vision –
and burst each cloud, throughout the ride,
and it all began – again –