A recent poem of mine

the baby at the edge 
of his change table
a leg lolling over
                               the side


limp wrist, fingers curled
to lick and pull
memory is seeking form
mind is seeking matter


then those fingers find rounded bumps
but the tongue waits
like silence always waits
breath at the hole it needs


punctures           
she's there
self contained unit of the child
elbows are pointless 
his loose sock flaps 
uninterested order
 

now jaw bone shudders
no rest no reason 
to not let it 
drop 
to 
the 
floor