In the whisper of a moonlight stream I heard her sigh or so I thought,
in the rustle of a mottled deer in oak pine forests I heard her weep or thought I did,
or maybe laugh when flitting brightly over jagged rocks.
Upon the silver tides a figure fitting her description swam, beneath the haze, before her angel outline filled the neon clouds.
Earth mother,
birth mother, bosom to an infant chain,
whose layered womb pulses to infinity,
whose foetal spark aches,
for her many sibling forms to coalesce and propagate.
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