Heaven, smooth face and tranquil hands waits for -
Nesting in the dust for so long;
She withers and drops to the ground;
Like a flower that burns, leans, and in the ruins.
Her children pass her by in the doorway;
Waving goodbye to the witness – the tone of death;
Traction in their goodbye – the shallowest current.
For now, she is sitting on the floor;
Looking up at the empty sun;
As her children cry unilluminated.
Not having the energy to get up;
Nesting in the dust for so long;
She falls in slow, snow blindness.
Heaven gives her clothes – an effort in oldness;
Nesting in the dust;
She withers and drops.
copyright 2010
