Excarnation

In this story, despite

our reservations, we do have kids.

We adore

their tiny furred faces and deep

pooled eyes.

They are hungry; my milk is pale with

thin oats.

I suckle them in a tiny boat

bobbed by the stormy sea.

The captain

has long passed; his gold has sunk.

His ruptured flesh

falls as marine snow.

The goddess circles like a sea eagle

and loves each life

with equanimity.

The way it finds a niche.

The way it finds a host.

She loves

the rock and the water.

The crystalline veins

and fluid branches.

She loves the galaxies spiraling detritus

arms, tossing out a sphere

here and there

to be ravenously

lived upon.