Birthing v. 3

Birthing v. 3

His feet extend from the tireswing,
a tail forming a Q from the O.
He fills the center to a whole,
like a hand and then a fist.

Dangling there, he is the donut hole,
the wrist filling the watch,
the ring finger, the circus dog,
the tire -- his circling fire.

From far away he is a pendant,
and the tree's bloom is the head of a girl.
He can see down her shirt
into the valley where pebbles fall.

And when his mother calls,
he will slip through the tire's yawn,
toboggan down a canyon,
landing at the end in two cupped hands
where there are lights and blood.