From "The Black Maria"
The body, bearing something ordinary as light Opens
as in a room somewhere the friend opens in poppy, in flame, burns & bears the child — out.
When I did it was the hours & hours of breaking. The bucking of
it all, the push & head
not moving, not an inch until,
when he flew from me, it was the night who came
flying through me with all its hair,
the immense terror of his face & noise.