Still Alive

Ancient woman, young as a child
older than you thought possible

agèd as the earth’s crust
shaking the mortar of your home

shock waves teaching your feet
all they need to know

about temporal and eternal
about time’s mouth opening

for breath of life at midnight
breath of memory

ear cocked for the sweep
of time’s wide, dark hand.

The world sleeps, new moons
between dying days of silver rain

the green world wakes
season of planting

leaves ripening and after harvest
chaff lying sunstruck in the stubble.

Now your winged hunger comes
swooping to the field for grain

in time of drought, for the taste of love
in time of fear.

And you are here, still alive
carrying your earthen tray of poems

like living fire into the sanctuary.