To get into life
Mosquito died many deaths.
The slow millstone of polar ice, turned by the galaxy,
Only polished her egg.
Sub-zero, bulging all its mountain-power,
Failed to fracture her bubble.
The lake that squeezed her kneeled,
Tightened to granite – splintering quartz teeth,
But only sharpened her needle.
Till the strain was too much, even for Earth.
The stars drew off, trembling.
The mountains sat back, sweating.
The lake burst.
Mosquito
Flew up singing, over the broken waters –
A little haze of wings, a midget sun.