Never Born

The moon in your television

A quivering death. The dark staircase 

Leading to a black field of snow. 

Asters thick with frost. And what

Did we expect? A homecoming,

Or a lullaby—for our porcelain cradles

To materialize from the cosmos, built 

From sinew & star. The winter cares 

For no one. The clocks in the trees 

Are ticking—cursed recording

Of bliss lost. How it eludes us,

A sheeted gurney drifting down

The hall. Straight into an open door, 

Jars of formaldehyde smashed,

Glass swept. Your baby teeth

A strung necklace you wear

To bed. So you may finally return,

To that hour before you were never born.