There is fairhood that tomorrow I sleep
I know this, and that
the baby has my fingers fused
So I will not try to move them.
Today or tomorrow.
When or where.
I cannot care,
Although my care Is
Substantial,
for Control is unequivocal.
Perhaps my mind-eye will be given a visage
Of baby’s wandering hands and feet
And thoughtless squeals that pierce the skies
And find in fate in the state of determinance