Now she sleeps, my little one.
I can give at least
this present tense, an active mood.
Among all the males of the line
I’d hoped there was one who was not,
who quickened and thudded behind
the drum-pulse I felt, lithe
and gently denting my finger-ends,
one who was growing towards the light,
hour by month, who might have no more of the male
than all women share.
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