It is late

And dark

And I cannot see my baby's face,

The way she sleeps,

His bellied laugh.

The rise and fall

And in and out

Of her.

I cannot recognise the way

She tips her head to work things out

As I do

As I am.

I cannot hold his hand in mine

My hand in hers

Or feel his breath

Against my cheek.

Alas

it cannot be.

It is late.

Too late.

And so

so dark

For my baby

And for me.