She clutches her unhatched children,
squeezing into an empty cave.
She hangs her white eggs above her
like nursery mobile bobbles.
She never leaves this sunken crib,
not to stretch, not even to eat.
She caresses them in the dark,
a cool hand on a sleeping face,
and blows air on them
until her last breath
when they awaken,
eyes shining with birth.
Gazing up,
she dies,
and thinks
they look like newborn stars.
