Fragile new life clings by its sucker
trembling when gusts blast by,
turning this way and that,
drawing sustenance,
buffeted by circumstance.

Fresh-birthed sensitivites,
quivering when touched by the other,
as if each of those touches permeates
the freshly born outer shell.
Skin awakens anew each shiver.

When stillness arrives, unwelcomed,
the buffeting is longed for again, instantly.

To sleep in the eye of that storm, lulled
by suckling, would be ecstasy.
You don't exit  the whirlpool
the same as you went in.
But that price is low
for the high
returned.
O!

                                                                                       For W. A.