My mother sleeps in the cave of the winds.
Water lapping on silver stones
Does not disturb her ancient bones.
Sometimes she stirs; her lidded eyes
Open and close: she smiles, sees,
Then sleep transcends.
My mother lies on a golden litter
Life suspends.
Her bed, her bier.
Sensing always that love is near.
My mother hears the silken sounds
Of planets whirring,
Music playing.
A child again she feels the warmth
Of sunlight streaming
Past, present fuse in her dreaming.
No shadow falls on her unseen walls.
My mother lives on
In unknown space,
Lingering in a state of grace.
My mother awaits
Her final leaving
Her life, her death
Interweaving.
Copyright © 1994 by Doris N. Sutton
