In limbo you swim,
bedazzled by sounds heard through the stretched full moon of stomach skin.
Your mother and I dream.
Mine are technicolour catastrophes -
so much could go wrong!
Your mother's - a yearning for her first kiss
(and the smell of your scalp).
What do you dream
as you drift in that amniotic ocean of possibility?
Do you study prescient lessons
to help with the final preparations?
your mother and I,
bloated with expectation
while you kick and
silently swim towards us.