BRIGHT MOTHER

Talking to you, I am a sailing, dying star.
I am no pilot to this flight in all your vastness.
Seeing you, I am surf across rocks,
Sprinkled chaotically, bearing litter of ocean.

Knowing you, I breathe through a veil.
Am I plant or animal? What could be here?  
What space, within?
Your eyes are shining suns,
Surrounded moons by dancers.

Awakening with thoughts of you,
I splash my boots in a puddle!
My legs are sore and wiry.
I danced all night in you.
I gnaw on the rock salt with all of my teeth missing. 

SCA 1994