Is It Poetry (1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

my baby how she knows;
and my baby knows
it day or night she knows.
my baby knows it
by a gentle touch
from me.
my baby knows
i must resist
a little
just to weave
each death
i wish too leave behind.
my baby knows it's
like the first each time
she slips it out
to hold.
my baby knows
that if my each
tomorrow were
to come today.
each dawn my baby
would fill each hand
with the stars of night
and the sun
of each yellow day.
with night and day.