Thursday, 11 August 2011

Mother (Earth)

Pregnant with minerals,
iron baby churning in the womb,
cornstalk hair bristling,
brushed by the Moon.
Her nerves are trees,
her blotches seas,
oceans her eyes -
corneas the skies.

She sees herself,
her perilous health,
but always she heals;
her lips are sealed.

In the cold of space,
in ancient wastes,
in nothing's womb
where nothing blooms,
she sits in peace.

Beneath the fleece
of atmosphere
her little darlings wander near,
their hearts purloined by petty fear,
but near to them
embrace of love.

The gods are cold,
there flies the dove.

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