In the time before dawn
I held him close,
the little goat child,
breathing on my neck
with his soft naaaahh,
and cooing sounds.
I wondered how many fathers had held their little goat boys this way -
in the hours of gray light.
Without a bosom to save them
only the power and throb of breath and blood. -
We listened together for the sounds
of the pipes of dawn
and the cracks in the darkness that brought out the birds' song.
I kissed him on the eyelids
and he squirmed so lightly.
We were breath and breath
against our doubled chest
as gray light broke and subtle song sang. -
It kissed his ears and mine,
relieved my fears, as back across the room we gently strode.
Before sunrise flooded red the room
the voices lulled him back to sleep.
I lay alone upon the sofa at ease
without a thought of time.