The Mother

She touched my neck, she healed me. She told me I was alive.
As a child, I tugged on the lengths of her white robes, and saw her beaming eyes.
She followed me to the ends of the earth, to the top of the holy mountain.
Through the crowded, angry streets, where I gave myself away.
And through the dark days, she waited.

In my slumber, in the tomb, I awoke to her - the infinite sky.
The cosmic womb. The creatrix, in a shroud of white clouds. The eternal mother.
I ran with wild horses at her feet, through the borderless, formless prairies.
Until she lead me to the ocean, and laughed with me, crescent moon in her hair.

I now I see her, sitting across from me, in the same old rocking chair,
Where I used to hear her lullabies, in a tattered white robe, and stocking feet.
Giving up pieces of herself, every atom, a loan without recourse.
She was the blue ballerina, with two stars in her hands, and her love was magic.