I awake with lotus petals on my tongue,
sage in my hair, my breath
coming and going in waves.
She sleeps beside me, oblivious,
dreaming her quiet dreams
of a mother who loved her
enough, stroked her head
and offered kind words. Dreams
can be such cruel knives.
I touch her hand to be sure
I am here, I am awake, not lost
still in the world, ten thousand things
swirling in my eyes, spinning
their webs. And yes, lotus petals
on my tongue, my body naked
in the cool night air. I've wanted
this moment for years, for
lifetimes, kneeling before my altar
and reciting mantras, seeking
that space where I am not.
Why now, at 3 am, that magic
hour of night? Something has opened
its eyes, exhaled into my lungs,
left me sitting, looking at darkness.
I want to wake her, yet I knew
my own mother's weaknesses,
the wanting of her touch, so I watch
her sleep and wonder how I found
her, how this miracle was conjured.
It all swirls around the room,
the scent of sage, distant howls
of coyotes, the gentle whisper
of two bodies breathing.