Here in my heart is a clouded plain
where a cold wind murmurs
you and the silence of you
I stood, paused in the shallow
dry dirt of March
and the wind lifted
my hair (so like your hair)
into my mouth, across
my face -- An absent caress
where the wind sings
you and the rhythm of you
Scudding clouds, driven by the
raw life of winds,
and their shadows draped
my thoughts (of your thoughts)
and my feelings about
your love -- An endless promise
where the wind invokes
you and the echoes of you
I watched, lit by a dying
bathroom light bulb
as a mirror imaged
my self, then your self
holding a child, my
child -- A maternal gift
Here in my heart is a sunlit plain
where a glad wind breathes
you and the memory of you.
The imaging of visions remembered
from Mother to Daughter
lingers like silken tears rediscovered.
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