You must have watched me, your baby, sleeping,
feeling my uncurling from your finger
as I, drifting, warm in love and sunlight, shifting
dreamless went to sleep.
But I don’t remember and I’m supposing.
I won’t ever know.
I remember watching you, Dad, gasping,
grasping your hand in my two, and crying,
waiting, baited for your last
and feeling you already gone.
You can’t know, now - ever,
while I’m weeping and supposing,
death can’t be no worse than baby’s sleeping.