Sunday, May 9, 2010

To My Mother

There is the drink,
the last drop of everything.

There is moon, by night urging
roots into the ground,
the height of knowing.
By day she passes over,

sometimes invisible
where hopefully then birds
and fruit begin to sing and blossom
In the wild of our hearts

the stars speak loudly
without care or need for care
where others tread.  We
are known because

you have known us,
known the space between
what we love,
and what we do not

the last drop of everything


Cosmic Monkey said...


fremenine said...

thank you, glad you appreciate it.