affection

Without supposing that I've changed a jot from the free

wheeler of yester-month, my plans for the future

stand up-ended - pending upon the is,

or isn't, of incipient life inside you, growing.

Loath as I am to wear a husband's hat,

that is a lesser matter to the somersaulting

vault I'd have to make in taking a father's

holy role in the upbringing of a child.

Wild is the track through unmapped land,

with the planned borders shuffling to and fro;

so no one knows if our feet have come to rest

in a nesting nook, or the brink's edge to a canyon.

With blindfold eyes within this anxious state,

we see in time there's nought to do but wait.