Milky Way

My soul lets down
As the first pearl
Rolls across a thread-wing curve
His tiny cheek and smile
For this now
To find the sweet and quickly

His pupils, still smoky with eternity,
Were made to see
Only as far as my face
We lie beneath a churning surf of stars
Clearly he knows
And is ready
But I, still engorged with joy,
Am astonished by my own

Until the tender hurt
Along his starfish tongue
Triggers a huntress tide
Submerged galaxies of hope and fear
The milk nebula
Is a sudden  introduction
To threats that held
No power before
He came

If I pray for my First Born
(Now driving down to the Capital
For love, his tears rise in the desert
His lens puts time in place)
I must also Pray for Yours
In high rise, or hut, or hangar
Behind a fence, in the field, 
Walking shanty roads, crying on the beach

If I pray for my Second Born
(Bounding through striped shadows
Beside his red dog, he comes home
With a green glass gaze too sharp for comfort)
I must also Pray for Yours
In prison hall or dancing for rain, 
On the banks of the Jordan, tending the steppes
Weeping, warring, reeling

If I pray for my Third Born
(Who has suffered too much,
Named by his shattering grin
Insisting on Shukran
Stubborn for justice and food)
I must also Pray for Yours
Sleepy with sustenance
Cradled in a pearly tide
We dowse for joy
And In the warring milky night
I have become all
Hopeful Virgin Mothers
Praying for Peace

Last Call at the Owl

To the Legal Limits May 2008