Sickly sprout glimpses light.
Strangles elder sister and
starves elder brother, crawling upward
through gasps of shade. Up,
up. Outstretched, not ******.
This one shrinks not
from probing creepers. This one
clutches clods of dirt in spindly arms,
twines about cage-wires thirsting
for sap. Roots,
inevitably. At last,
drizzle murmurs greetings
on fresh leaves
as they drink of sunrise.

The overgrown fetus does not shiver here.
Splayed like a downed bird
head under brittle arms, one eye open to
nothing. Do you see your birthright in the darkness
Dove? Do you swoop in
my wake as you sleep? Yes, dream
your keen searching stare
and your downy talons on my back
parting skin like clouds.
Still you crack and pool
and putrefy on unyielding stone
for wrath is silent without air.