you breathe,
once more,
to give love its name,
you are the mother who dies in labor.

you died on a wednesday, we celebrate you then,
every wednesday, at 2 10′s,
we became closest then.

my face is filled with salt of the sea,
you are singing, and skimming its waves
heavy love in your wings -
i reached out my hand,
with brilliant feathers, you flew away
‘it’ll always be like i said’

your body asleep,
i felt you in the hands of your man,
your mother.
the earth lost its detail as i scaled the tree,
it grew fat and blurred,
its nuances enveloped by shades of grey,
i never touched it that day,

but i felt it in their palms.
i pulled my hand away to inspect your muddy traces.