A Slice of Sky

MOTHERSONG

A leaf trickled down

onto the dew

on white, steel mornings

as if to say

“You thought I would not last the night,

the frost bears its might upon my body:

it will choke my stillborn song.”

Heavy it lay upon your back

bearing upon your tender frame

the deadness of aborted rain

that had given itself up to

beatification- crystal tomb.

But its scorching scalpel could

neither shred your shimmering skin

nor stop the rivers woven within

from the time of the first star.

For you recalled the morning

and did not succumb.

Cradling the sun in your arms

you would not, in your stillness,

be held down.

Waiting,

thinking of these icy shadows that

would pass, and you, once more

would walk those paths

greened and warmed ,

uninhibited ,

in flights of light and shade.

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