The milk is

Poured, fermented

Stomped in a 

Winepress

For me to be

Soothed in my

Sickness,

 

The night lights

Light up my

Feet, being

A lamp not

Meant to be hidden,

In the wet darkness 

As I find the light

Made to swaddle me

With its towel

 

The angels circle

Around my crib,

Leaving me gifts

For me to open

And wear as 

Sweaters they've

Knitted for my

Protection

 

The lullabies are

Tunes I've composed,

To soothe me to

The sleep as I

Remain restless

In the wet darkness

 

My dreams are

Messages from the

Night lights, as

I've believed my

Eyes have opened,

Only to remain 

Shut by a vacuum

 

I lay in a bed,

The cord being

A rope to climb,

To be tangled with

As I try to untangle

The cords before

I'm choked and am

No longer a light.

 

I reach the cord,

But where does it

Go, and how do I

Get there? How 

Long will it take

For me to walk

Before I crawl?

 

How long before

The morgue swaddles

Me in the fiery

Cloth, and lays me

In the manger for

The light to wither

Into the lake?