Your Child Against My Brainchild

You are pregnant now -- the way a poet is, with brainchild. He pupmed a life in you, And you are pregnant. I whispered a thought, and I am pregnant. I am being stuffed witha wind That swels in me with my nutrition; In you, came, a blood-clod apparition. The fetus grows inside With the germs of life. Beads of moments pile up, And you become a mom. Thus I fathered an art. Unlike yours, I feel no end of my cyclic pregnancy, By day, and by night; Unlike yours, I can blow it in the wind. BECAUSE Your one is a shape; My one is a spirit.