We Have Birth

The cord sprung taut,
the baby jangling around
like an aeroplane oxygen mask:
placenta in flames, falling,
scraps of cloud like stretch marks,
the gap between expansions,
a universe-in-miniature, red-faced
like a short-haul drunk, clawing
and screaming, expecting death
in the sky-lit room: completely absorbent,
mindless, parachute in flames.