On an Archipelago far from septic isles, Deep in silent azure I place broaches and pins in a wooden box, for safe keeping And set her dreams on a bed of lichen, fields of leafy pathway stretching she’ll nestle woven toad flax and larkspur to steadfast her conscience. The Birds of the flock thrush and dove, sensing her bridle rejoice in her Mother lode, precious be their plenteous dawn.