I woke, containing you, singing a new song.
Fire’s element mastered in flame, fashions a form;
love’s pulse within me shall be shaped a man, but
can spirit be birth-bound; merit a mother and warm?
White winter falls silent and cold;
we wait loving, and still I sing but more
turn in to my womb where silences eddy,
gyrate, and soundless break on an unseen shore.
Quick child within the dark, does know, sees,
hears; must never lose myriad wonder of flower-
colour, chromatics that counter and fuse, nor
rise out of reach moon and his bright star.
You win me earth’s essence and warm.
Lunar beauty is bliss, and cannon in far skies
those singing stars I know may now be dust.
No matter: I saw my child in the angel’s eyes.
Creation spirals, rounds, barely I touch
eternal its rim with quiet fingers. On tips
of silence that angel is poised beyond darkness,
yet I shall suckle at my mere breast his lips.