The baby we could have had lies in the folds of the earth and breathes a
It has a body that glides through the water like a whale at sea, singing to us in our sleep.
It flies through the air like an eagle soaring on circles of wind, calling out to us nightly. The baby we could have had belongs to no one and is lost to the ancestors who reclaim the fire that burns during the coldest night of December then dissipates in woodsmoke rising to stars.
a young fox pouncing for his catch winter solstice