Mother’s Day


*tip o’ the hat to Jim Woodward for the graphic

It first came

With morning light

In dappled green on sparkling breeze,

Leaves turning of a dragon’s face—

Through the open window,

There in the maple trees

Its stare,

Immortal, intense, other worldly

In beckoning sight,

Filling my white,

Still, room

With the passage of her life.

It could have been clouds

Like childhood days

In which,

We counted the ways

Of form and dissolution—-

In things appearing

And disappearing.

Not knowing in play,

The signs of portents and omens.

But now I know

The secrets of wise women

Their ways in the magic of forms,

The messages,

Signs and whispers of life,

The continuity of immortality

In the rustling leaves of growing seasons.

In the stippled light of love changing form,

If only for moments,

Then flying into the void.

(for Willa)


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