Flailing / The Sheep’s Gate

I stand at the gate

watching you

wondering what you see

and imagine all sorts

of possible calamities

but not really

I actually don’t like

to imagine them

but I wonder

what you imagine

when the world you love

is motherless,

its arms stretching up

to be carried,

nestled deep and safe,

and it refuses to see

you standing there,

its mother who aches

to pick up its child

blind and flailing

desperate to be loved.