rock all my babies to sleep

these days 
when i give myself a break for a few
i see that my life is a mobile
these moments, these loves
the glow of the snowy dawn hill 
the glare of the blade in afternoon woods
the filthy orange floor boards 
the buzzing speakers and gleaming glasses
her eyes closed so lightly
neck a smooth soft sapling trunk at my fingers 
the others holding the > of her waist
maroon under the candle 

these all hang silent 
swing so gentle
against the house-breeze of my warm room

i’d been beneath in the cradle
but now i hold the mobile from above 
guiding the pieces in their dance
with the slightest tilt of the base 

yes, i’m up on one foot 
stepladder trembling
and who, you ask, is the baby
but my balance is strong
these muscles i’ve never felt
surprise me with their endurance like
they’ve always waited for this task