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

Shortlisted in Creativewritingink contest  Ireland