She sat in dusty shadows
Of an open-curtain window
Her winnowed shapes
Worn smooth in graven-memory
Though I did not find her there
Only old pitted thoughtscapes

Places plastered, buckled and bowed
A cast cast bitterly and thoughtlessly
Aside to collect dust and gravity
To crack and fade in anonymity
What secrets trickled away while
I was not there to watch over her?

Studying the near-face of mother
Her peace is a feature sculpted by
Knotted fingers long ago and fired
To create a lasting image for us left
Behind...
Her secrets left from here