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“Shake out carols!
Solitary here, the night’s carols!”
—Walt Whitman Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking
Begin round,
green and speckled brown.
Twist in amber veins.
Weave in lucent skeins, bore
toward the dark middle, that hide
spinning wights, tangled nights.
In sleep.
Wrapped, bodies gathered,
tingling slow,
time groans, cells divide.
Within the bud,
under night mud,
something yawns,
stretches,
thrusts tendril fingers up from beneath
and listens, feeling the breeze breathe.