Member Poem

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  or maybe drowned  or even  vanished  in the neon  haze.
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 or come to term.