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.