my hair smells like raspberries and blackberries
and rosemary wine.

so many wrecks, the moon has gone of her track.

i am spell-bound, i want to say, "STOP".

but i just watch the backlash,
the very last crash.
it was a smash book poem.
it was the last mangled word.

she forgot, she couldn't remember . . .
she forgot, she couldn't walk.

she forgot, but now she can look back,

and she knows.

she fell before she flew away.

and where have they gone?

i gave birth to the ocean,
so take me back to her.
take me back to her.

i don't know,
but i am the liquid movement.

there are shadows on the shelf.

grandma spider will clean them away,

whisper them away as she wraps them in webs.

the sage wind blows, caught in crescent moon.
she is veiled, she is quiet in the candle light.

my husband stokes the fire and turns my
face towards the sunlight sparkling on the waves.

be warm in your heart, be young in your hope.
we are mortal and we are happy,

so be it and so it is.