SHEPHERD

What I feel

is the cold

dark night

of Shepherding

shivering by the stable

door

not perceiving

what I have seen

not understanding

what I have heard

I want

the swaddling blanket
of a baby born

breast on which to rest

my weary head

the child-cry in me 

am I past all that?

and destined now

for mothering the child

fathered

folded in my arms

resting her head

to sleep upon me

the trusting trusted

the needy needed