I did not ask to be born, she said.
But then I thought, that might be expecting too much
even of God. How can He know? Maybe more like
a confirmation when you reach the age of reason.
What age is that?
Well, I guess that's the trouble, she said.
As far as God's concerned, I'm not sure
we ever reach it.
She kissed my arm: her wrist so thin
my thumb met my fingers
at the radial pulse.
Man is born to trouble, she said,
as the sparks fly upward.