CANTO 24 This chilly morning
T
his chilly morning I reach forthe worn blanket
left for days.
Where I would sit scoots a mouse
giving birth. She runs for any
shelter while two already born
totter and grope.
She climbs the canvas wall.
One half-born dangles from her.
Clinging she contorts
to pluck it with her teeth.
Her sides pulse. Drops of
clear water fall. Another comes.
What can she do? Airborne life
until the little plop.
Holding the other’s nape
she runs from my reaching hand,
both of us grasping,
caught in this tent, this trap.