today is a milkweed pod,
a flood-rush
wrapped around the roots
of an ancient tree.
i have seen all that is holy
in the feather-down of your wee noggin,
in the curl of your lip.
the book of life
is writ small, and in pastels:
a mother’s heart can open
to form a scar
made of sky.
Oh, Aly, so much love is right. XO
Thank you. It takes one to know one...