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 neonĀ  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

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