(for Lisa Morgan… happy birthday!)

It’s a kind of birth canal,
every tunnel we enter,
imagining, if not seeing,
the proverbial light at
what might or might not
be the end.

So much growth occurs,
rich nourishment received
in this final bit of gestation.

We want to go more deeply,
more deeply, more deeply,
unhurried, unafraid,
eyes open, listening keenly
into the silence, waiting
for the delicate to appear.

It’s the hope we cling to
as we enter the narrowing,
perhaps unwillingly,
little by little, until we are
sufficiently deep into
the fullness of the unknown,
squeezed so tight, so tight—
until, to our surprise,
brightness shines upon us.

We are received, recognized,
encountered, known.

We are not alone.

No wonder we gasp,
blink hard, maybe cry
to start the breath. Look
at the journey we’ve
undertaken to get here.

Look how far we had to go.