cast

                                                                                       shadows

                                                                                       of intent

                                                                                       let light

                                                                                          into

                                                                             hollows carved by

                                                                         hand and shepherd day

                                                                      until she elbows her way

                                                                 back into the corner    you never

                                                           stand         to lose  if you raise one         foot

                                                              from         a wooden last and lace         your

                                                                 boots   with birdsong  and   straw

                                                                    twist pocketed fingers until

                                                                       each one finds something

                                                                         to witness something

                                                                            you might step over

                                                                           like emerald shoots

                                                                            tickling the face of

                                                                              blossom  or the

                                                                              day a      baby

                                                                              meets      herself

                                                                              in the      mirror

                                                                              or how     to read

                                                                              a fine      friend

                                                                              whose     muddy

                                                                               eyes       match

                                                                               slow       feet

                                                                                 keep  walking

                                                                                 until you know

                                                                                   it is time to sit and

                                                                                    listen do not question

                                                                                      your heartbeat be

                                                                                        unperturbed by the

                                                                                          muttering night strike

                                                                                            at darkness until it sparks

                                                                                             burn beeswax and set your way

                                                                                              with beacons find the flint bequeathed

                                                                                               to you by mother morning she wants nothing

                                                                                                less for you than today she made a pact with

                                                                                                  the moon and dressed waves in lace to remind

                                                                                                   you to renew to breathe slowly she asks for your

                                                                                                  attention is the wind tousling and tugging at you

                                                                                                    is the sun on your neck a warm painted scarf can

                                                                                                      you smell the earth in unscented petals is concrete

                                                                                                      sparkling on your city paths do you see headings

                                                                                                        or stories in the eyes of sisters will you inflate

                                                                                                          or deflate their table of contents will this be

                                                                                                          the day you discard forks to eat slices of

                                                                                                             summer with your fingers can you taste

                                                                                                              the salty marrow of your lineage do you

                                                                                                               know whose names are engraved into

                                                                                                                  your brow it is us the ones you cannot

                                                                                                                       see in your reflection it is us we who

                                                                                                                                        stitched ancient

                                                                                                                                     mantras into your wing

                                                                                                                                      tips we do not walk in

                                                                                                                                         front we wait behind

                                                                                                                                              you beside you

                                                                                                                                                     shadows

                                                                                                                                                          cast