In this, the day after the occasion

of the fulfilment of a cribbage hand

of years since my father’s passing

i talk at length with some of my kin

and realise, it’s more than time

to renovate You and Me Against the World

though it must be said that has kept us alive.

Imagine what we can do, all of us, if we say

You and Me For the World.

In a similar vein, i imagine my father

who’d had to kill to stay alive, pounding

his fist on a table somewhere and declaiming

against the foolish slang of slaying it. As if that is

to be desired, rather than what one does at need.

So, for his hard-gained wisdom, and my own

having birthed and assisted at births, and knowing

what joy that travail does bring, i now speak of

excellent work as Birthing It.

This seems to me to be much more exciting, daring

and in boring old fact, accurate to describe feats

of artistic, athletic, or other performative excellence.

When the muse descends, when the act transcends, we

do not kill the moment, we bring it to life. We breathe

upon the spark of inspiration and shiver in the wonder

of its bursting into some brilliant new pulsing, living thing.

Art and athleticism, and human attainment of all sorts

add life. We reach toward something so strong, so pure.

We who are audience are midwives, hands outstretched

hearts alight with the recognition, in this new, transcendent

luminous moment, the best of all that we ever are or could be.