Still born cry

I have heard them cry out of the cold and dark,
Waking up where no one breathes or sees or is;
Little wonders of the waters born elsewhere,
Clinging by instinct to some infinite void.

I reach for them. One by one they slip away,
Disfellowshipped from all love by misfortune.
With me they’d be safe, warm and gurgling with joy.
(Doctor said they were just mind healing spectres.)

Grief at need denied in perpetuity.
Not dead, but there waiting for a mother’s call.
Let go for closure, nurses said, please let go.
Numb in the machine hum of a healing room.

So, light dissolves and yields to another night.
They are with me and I will not let them go.
Accepting their end would render me useless,
My fingers will be on their lips as I die.