I can see it through my third eye, reflections from the sunny window.
Inner mothering, is guiding me through. Nature pushes and pulls, this is true. I console the wounds, all knowing keep warm in my arms. I'll rock you back and forth, until you give it a rest. Broken branches, and a fumbling cliff rock, I shall allow you to fall. Displacement wasn't ever at all, which ever you reach, there you shall remain until displaced again.