(for
Baby M)
Oh
one, not of my blood
How
is it I have become
the
keeper of your soul...
I
think my sea of tears
has
surely run dry;
I
have locked you away
in
a room, protected
from
further harm,
A
room to which only
I
hold the key
And
I am swallowing it...
The
conceit I carry
with
me being--
Only
I am able
to
repair the night
that
haunts you now.
Yes,
I am become
driven
to write
your
slate anew
Knowing
even as I
yearn,
the foolishness
of
this
There
will be
no
meshing
of
gears for you
or
your ashes
No
matter how
many
bargains
I
am willing
to forge
with
Time.
