cradle

one day in the deepest place
where the dark has smothered the young trees
I kneeled and looked into the humus cradle
and found under the moss quilt a sleeping newt
belly the color of witch’s butter
breath cool and slow

it took only a finger to lift him
and surprised he waved his sprocket feet
then found his grip and rested his small throat against me
I waited patiently to see if he would wake

and then he opened his shy wet eyes
and in them was a rare and gentle thing
that does not abide in a human world
he shifted one foot slowly and curled it tighter
and then to my surprise blinked

© Elizabeth Myhr

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