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Contents
 On the Death of An Infant

What purpose --
so brief life
with wealth of love
invested?

We cannot understand
(only hope for fate's design;
that it has one, points
in some direction)

nor accept
the awful resonance
of the implication:

randomness,
the death of everything
(yet each at the center
of his web -- each web
touching the next . . . )

A cosmos is woven to catch the pattern,
if only to say,
life cannot be held in this net;
control evades us,
eludes the shaping
of action
and desire. Thus,

a cosmos that calls its own shots
yet holds the all in its embrace,
as once a mother
held this child.
© COPYRIGHT 2015. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
  • Home
  • Genevieve Freeman
  • Les Reed
  • Carolyn Reed
  • Darcy Reed
  • David Allen Reed
  • Blog
  • Ouji
  • that's just what you think
  • the girl who couldn
  • theodore
  • Flash Fiction
  • Facing Music
  • The Coat
  • Sorry Sweetheart
  • The Listener
  • Resistance
  • Poetry by Carolyn Reed
  • Emblematic
  • Poetalk
  • Ensenada
  • Maternity
  • Mother's Day
  • Union Station
  • Having Never Flown
  • William from the res
  • To the Forest
  • Cuneiform
  • The House of Tofu
  • The Bubble Angel