Now faith is the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not seen. — Hebrews 11:1
The unseen rolls over the wall
of her womb, pressing
into the palm of my hand, as if it knew
my touch in the dark water.
I see her stomach redden, branch
with blue veins like Burr Oak Woods
at sunset, but I can only count
the kicks, flutters and rolling waves,
symphonic movements of the invisible
within her. Within me, a sun
is always setting over dark branches,
cirri rifting like stretchmarks
upon the celestial dome.
CAMERON MORSE taught and studied in China. Diagnosed with a glioblastoma in 2014, he is currently a third-year MFA candidate at the University of Missouri—Kansas City and lives with his wife Lili and newborn son Theodore in Blue Springs, Missouri. His poems have been or will be published in over 100 different magazines, including New Letters, Bridge Eight, South Dakota Review, I-70 Review and TYPO. His first collection, Fall Risk, is available from Glass Lyre Press.