Sea minor

The day you were born
It would never be the same
as it ever was.

This day, at that time
started this life
                       from lives past-
Passed through you to you
creating something
from some things that were before
you arrived as you.

This time and time again

many things came first
many more things will come to pass
none have counted you
in years
             -as the last

-pushing through, pulling you-

The only time you
were you,
we met
            through others
matters were made

any day now we will change
-back-
into strangers, fate carried vessels
pulling our chords,
                              the other way.



Painting by Ivan Aivazovsky [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 

A jacket is a cover

When my mother told me
about the day I was born,
she said, besides being too big
and born late,
it was a dark a stormy day,
grey, wet, cold and nasty, and
dreadful as ever for February-

And since I was there but did not see,
I trust this is the truth
she saw
with me.
Although, due
to my mother
never reading, she wouldn't have known,
it was a great day
to start a new book.



Painting by Mary Cassatt, 'Sleepy Baby' c. 1910 in Public Domain, via Wikimedia Commons.