There is usually a question mark
and
someone left in the dark
and another
knows what's going on.



I see signs in the minefields of men


In the distance exposing the light
the dawn cracks the mirror and
escapes from the night.



Not far to go now
but how will I know when?



the cries of the baby though random they may be
are soothed by the mother,



fleeting like memory that flashes before me,
the crib and the nursery
the future out there for me
gurgling happily.
time for it all to develop.