She walked outin snatches,
unravelling me as she left,
and no milk. A bear is good
and my mouth and hands
connect in relation to it.

I can't pull it all together.
I can't, I am little and piecemeal,
it is too big and manifold here.

2.

That lady is dangerous. The yellow
one. She picks up the pieces
and fits me to the blocks and the trucks
but fits me wrong.

It is tempting to fall into place,
but if it sets I won't fit my mother
and I'll be alone forever,

and the order of the world altered,
and I altered with it,
and everything I hold dear lost,
and everything unstable, arbitrary
and provisional.

3.

She comes back all of a sudden
in a tremendous crash,
and the world shimmers around her
in and out of order,
and I across the room

shimmer into order with it,
strung across the room to her,
and my body condenses into action.
The line between us pulls like hair

but then she is with me and lifting me
and there is a word for it,
and I have huge working arms,
and soon I'll make some milk.