The Babe in the Egg

She emerged from the
Constriction of darkness,
The coolness of the smooth
Curved walls still
Tingling her fingertips, 
And stepped, blinking, 
Into light.

Whiteness stretched a blank presence
Into infinity, directionless, the smooth
Compass-points she knew.  If she
Did not step any way for
Any length of distance
There would be nothing

But this insistence of brightness, this
Enduring light, this pregnant silence.
She hoped in vain for the
Coloured ends of ropes dangling
Lifelines before her

Outstretched hands 
In vividness of
Reds and blues and greens, yellows -
Living ends she could
Grasp and be hauled up
From such an overwhelming
World where she had been
Inborn.

The rasp of heavy
Weave in her hand would
Wean her from this place of
Pale stasis, this stretching
Whiteness, to real

Purpose
To the surge of a lively
Coloured world: a kaleidoscope
Of infinite configuration and
Possibility, where 
She would learn 

She had been
Reborn from darkness 
As a Princess.

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