from your daughter –

my Mother is a Cave; she

is a tutored Essence, a

circular Insight who weaves

great Garments with

stars entwined I her daughter

longhair mutely falling

i use what i can

she gives to me those

spaces in the mind that keep

her Sharp; bony fingers knit

a calm deliverance -- These skeins

flowing

gradually through her knuckles -- hers

is the Holy Mother, John

gone ravening

in the Wild -- She is Mary, mother,

Soul, she gives way

to an intrepid laughter meant

for child's ears -- She brings to

the fore

an iron mettle and Surging Veins

struggling

in the Rain; Now I, her

daughter, here,

my wolfbones lengthening beneath

a lunar Strain, aspire

to Motherhood and Creation -- Our

Fathers bald, our Cousins primed

for Our Arrival -- We are

the secluded Source of our

delivery; What maw can devour Us

now, Now that we

are One, one force Timed for

Observation and

Increase? --