so smooth, silky amongst the leaves
that our mother--not yours alone,
nor mine-- our mother has dropped
on us with slick dewdrops

that silhouette the evanescence
of the life around it. We sit below
a long palm and watch the world
dissolve into a cleansing of her.

The rain; teardrops of the world
make the known lost, within
all that eyes can see,
even if you're lost with me.

Feathers, withered, wet--lost
falling down upon earth,
where we will become one again
with this weeping, serene mother.

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