XVI. The End of Fathering   I fathered you. Self-enfolded, you Were born of our firm union, blue- Skinned baby scarcely breathing more Than one might at death's door. I fathered you. Mine the spark and yours The kindling, yours the womb that took The weight, yours the labor, yours The forced delivery. I could only look, Astonished, at the self-containing Dam, and hope for love remaining When the labor and delivery tears Apart the miracle: herself a mother bears. Who can measure such self-making's worth? Who can tell the meaning of such birth?