“Mother’s dying almost stunned my spirit… She slipped from our fingers like a flake gathered by the wind, and is now part of the drift called “the infinite.”

We don’t know where she is, though so many tell us”
The Letters of Emily Dickinson

Eternity began with  mom
We do not yet know where

Mom is, who slipped away
From our fingers like flake

Though many point there,
Tearing words from time.

We face breathless eternity
With our  gorgeous things

An image here, a  shadow
A time for  remembrance,

A tree that is flourishing,
Death thought in a body,

Its sleep lost in eternity
Like  river lost in ocean.


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