Birth Poem by James McLain

Being not born I was captured
captured by
the light of early day
caught
in the mist
of the morning after.

Green trees
and their leaves
tall hills
where the ground
loops back as it circles
I walked at the top
and has been
by others paved
that descend to the bottom.

And
who do you know
that will come
after me
knowing how long
that you must wait
at the bottom
while night turns to
day
that you were
called up to be born.