The cover of the book
is astral violet,
& within it
are poems,
most of them
earthbound,
but for one
to the poet's
daughter
which soars
into
the empyrean
on umbilical wings.

Oh we poets
are so afraid
of making babies-
& yet
of all
the fleshly chains
that bind us,
our children
are the chains
that bind
most closely
to heaven.

How can that be?

Poetry
is an astral
affliction.

Poets are always
saving themselves
for their poems.
Yet in that saving
there is no grace,
while in the child
there is distraction,
chaos, disorder

& through that fleshly chaos

peace.