Getting Pregnant

I have thought myself a furious hedge
of contorted bones with a contradictory
crosshatch of soft leaves in a supple,
generous green

which live to balance a thick slug
that sucks along my palms
or perhaps like
a nearly weightless bee,
which tickles in passing.
I want to be like that: tender
in my head

a revelation
by nature is not seen

there, I see him
he sticks his head out
from the garden, it’s warm
and shallow 
he says,
there’s nothing else to say
it’s that good, it isn’t
a complaint, it’s god
I guess

my husband
does it again, walking through doors,
a specialty and
with a curious look, spying through
the hedge into my living room,
it was effortless getting pregnant

with his miraculous
walks through wood and frame


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