Indigo (unfinished)

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On the fifth week, they told me that you were the size of a star in the night sky.  The first glimmer, the first sight of worry. Inside me, I felt the lights revolving - always on the watch. When we brought you home, I’d go in and out of your dim room to feel your chest for the rise and the fall. It all hanging on one little muscle. These days, I hold your hands in wriggling water and darkness is falling at four in the afternoon. A disquiet is tugging at my sleeve. Soon I will oxidise, and I’ll be the one that’s pulling. So deep in the thicket each day. This ink stain will never go away. 

 

It is infinite

Unrolling like a carpet

Soaking the cosmos

Threading patterns of seven

Sheets of indigo