Lost Baby

You came into the world just a few weeks in the making
with buds where arms and legs might grow
invisible though perfect.

You would have been a spring baby, had I protected you
from my search for comprehensive relief from distress
and insatiable euphoria.

They told me that God was enough
I crushed up the tablets that proved they were wrong
and as the blister pack emptied, the sadness floated
over the sterile stalls
my loss washed away under the calm of running faucets.

Even your heart had not begun to beat yet
Your blood was mine, your neurons were still
somewhere above my waist, the halcyon of drugs
drifted to my conscience, erasing contrition.

There was no room after you had left.
But I did care and did love and
felt the wrench of a deep anchor
that held a body in the womb
but not your life to the earth.