Feet tips no more

than rosebuds, skin

as thin as membrane.

Inside this newborn

ringtail pulses bitumen

warm from summer’s hell.

Gumnut eyes blind

black ears folded

there is no mother

now as threadbare

noose of tail lets go.

What am I to do?

Give milk, cup

it dry in muslin?

Head as a thimble

bowed as a buttock

that puce bruise

on concrete would

take just one boot heel

to end a vellum paper skull.

But I don’t, blister eyes

are blind to all universes

still as a baby’s fist.

I’ll mercy those who can

see frequencies in the light.

All the earth starts

as a wrinkle, a purse

of hope holding murmurs

contracting and unravelling

the strands of the day.

At some point I should

help, the argument

for life worming right there –

but what could I ever really do?

Put its soft wild

pound in my pocket?

Place its unlacing

song on my palm?