Mother mine,
the fury of our blood to tempests
 a swirling passion,
 casting seeds to the dry wind.

To mother, to mother
 walking her moor, voice
         to the wind,
            speaking of justice and
                   love--no, shouting!

To mother,
embracing life in a
 lover's grasp,
          and beyond life also:
               spitting wording of prophecy
                         into the wind
                        swirling among us,

All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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