by Lisa Marie Popp
You came as sleep, slowly
when I woke
things had a deep-blue look.
You dressed as night, but
behind the stars
I saw dark flashes of your body.
And as for dreams,
how many you tempt me with!
You never tire of hopeful deceptions.
As though I stood in need of such visions
of bleeding and blood
to move me to acknowledge your power, Mother.
Baby, when you were born
you taught the world to dream, but
you died before you lived.
Mother is the least of things to be feared
because while she is me, she is not
and when she comes I am not,
so we never meet at all.
Mother, you have lived all times in me
and me in you, inside darkness,
and not to know you is
not to know myself.