Like a host awaiting an unknown guest,
my seed now has a purpose of its own.
A blue spirit being has come to rest,
in my partner's womb, as I was sown.

Life, distance, everything is worn by time,
as our forebears create a giant rock
which, by being alive, I'm bound to climb
in turn to leave my heartbeat at the top.

Buffeted by storms and calm's quiet rage.
The winds of fear and self-doubt come in gusts.
Perhaps these howl and sweep through every age
to tear me away from my grip; your trust?

You a ledge, over which I strain to peek,
as this child nudges gently at my feet.

[Sonnet from a collection by S.C.N. Pockley]

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