Resignation. 
This wasn’t the plan.
But a little babe came early.
And everything changes in the ripple.

You pulled a rabbit right out of another hat.
You offer yourself the lamb (rejoice).

We are of course grateful.
I’ve never seen you.

But…bear with…

We recognize the sacrifice.
And a wrinkle creases my brow.

Sigh.

You see it, right?
You are the poem. 
(sunset, stage, backlight) 
The poem keeps writing itself.

It isn’t easy to reach the velocity of escape.

You can’t just burn the cabin and the woods and never look back.

You can zip up your Bob suit, and walk out on that stage.
All method to this acting,
But something remains. What is it?

You can shave, but it grows back too fast.
I don’t even have to write the poem.