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Transition

I looked out over the edge of my old life, holding this tiny red-faced baby so tightly,
my daughter,
and to see out over that boundary I had to look right past her
tiny sleeping bundled body.
and present, and unknowing,
my daughter,

When I look down her toothless mouth opens, as mine would not,
she stirs and I silence her with gentleness
weeping, weeping,
leaving.

When I can stand looking and knowing I will not look the same again
less than I can stand not looking
I let her go -
her mother takes her -

and I am off, down, running down over the edge of my life,
running away into madness and desperation and betrayal,
leaving.

As I tumble there is a despondent kiss, a snapping of traces
I am seeking a beginning on the other side, forgetting
all about endings, sure of resurrection.

In a moment there is a cry
beyond the window, metres away and beyond.

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