LIPOGRAM FOR A LOST CHILD
Bolts of light, small footprints and hoofs,
shadows in damp mud. Soft rustling:
budding mushrooms and marsh bugs.
Follow a raft and it’s a body drifting along
a brook. Find a child and claim it’s yours.
Part his lips, think back on your handiwork:
sand against gums, spit as thick as glim wax.
This is your stillborn. This is your sick boy.
Run your hands through his fur, hark
his soft music. Wind swooning through a
ram’s horn split from its skull. Tulips, hyacinth.