Under water you are still an iri­des­cent trace of  corners pealed 

sunbeam and sunset  stay with us  soul and dust 

 whisper of flame in hand you bloom  (________) 

in no ripple drift­ing by  in your mother’s eye silence of voice 

in gasp  in want  in need  in exhaus­tion        in agitation 

in dis­so­ci­at­ed memory  recall­ing a phone call singing 

amidst the clings of music  and the counts of laughter 

body breath­less  steps making way through the 

waters of sound  to reach your mother 

to find her awaken  by grit­ting teeth  a fra­grant of silence 

in a body so still,  it grew out of her and stirred 

the beats  and swings  and taps to be a tongue so restless 

to be ash  and to be lost  in morning in miles  of you 

she was held tightly  violet and Sunday  seeking the divine 

in a room of sun and soil  an untaught silence we know 

of someone’s child  family  and blood 

of a smile  we’d believed to see  again one day 

through rivers  or moun­tains  to not forget 

unfor­giv­ing country   we remain in place  listen to her scream 

molten and awake