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Mother,
my Mother,
Under these vast sheets of sleep,
I startle and look up to see your black
wings quiver;
they sweep over my body, a prowling cloud-
Dream Mother
bending your arms back like rotten branches­
in your woods I dream these things
"Every angel is
terrifying . . .I
invoke you,
ahnost deadly
birds of the
s "'0 u l ... "
-Rilke
afraid that if my mouth should open a thousand tiny spiders will come pouring out.
Mother of the Dark
with your pick-axe eyes,
you stare at me from your shadow face,
your endless space.
I want you to die again.
Leave my body here with its scars.
I want only to sleep,
free of the panic flash
that I will not save you from your cemetery decay, your slow
absorption into earth.
I turn away from you
huddled under a wing of Cygnus
and chant through the night a mourning song,
this is how it ended, this is how it ended,
oh God,
this is how it ended.
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