He’s got this way of breathing Shallow, hallow, still. His fingers curl repeating Tight’ning, fighting will. His eyes are slowly closing Drift up, drift down, shut. His latch is loose and lazy Mouth set, forget – up. His forehead is now sweating Sleep’s cue, due for rest. My baby, he is napping And he fills his mother’s chest.
A fundamentalist turned freedom chaser with an obnoxiously stubborn faith.