It’s not that it doesn’t matter,
I do,
sometimes to exhaustion,
this merry-go-round,
a never-ending style,
certain pains carried,
a baby stands.
It’s hard to find commitment,
I know,
when surprised by the elements
brand spanking new,
reminder of wisdom forgotten,
rejected and denied,
the baby walks.
It’s not the unseen,
I heard,
the one that whispers,
meaning it one way,
the opposite the next,
stirring in all directions,
not only up and down but diagonal,
the baby creates.