No Turning Round Only Upside Down

Wearing a sheet of varied colors like a serape.  Over your head a plastic tarp to block out the wind

blowing you every which way nowhere to hide until the rising moon leaves

everyone is fast asleep in beds far from the stormy shoals of waters rising on the shore hidden in the reeds

making no noise no sound no groans no moans

staying alert while reasoning that you depart at first light like a moth that hides from the predators forgets that

we are here wrestling with somnambulance

put out by the family as a child for whatever reason which they had

caring for your baby hidden inside you leave a wisp of smoke from every breath alone shuddering in your coveralls.

there is nowhere for you to come in where you’re welcomed with warm embrace.

~ Randle Loeb ~