Prophesy by Fire

​Mother
Of amber sky
Singing firebrands
Mother makes fire
Mother makes flame
Night settles in, soft as otter fur
Mother ignites the stacks of wood
Burnishes the clay pots
 
Rumbles heat inside the kiln
Refreshes her thunder
 
A woman of many passions,
Strength or weakness? Tell me, please
Mother, so busy playing the odds
Shakes your hand soundlessly
Speaks without  words
Never sighs or offers
Apologies
 
We prattle on
Two faces, three faces
Four
 
The tide rises passionately
Retreats, soft as
Snowfall
 
Beads of sand know that caress
Weren’t these grains once
High mountain boulders
 
The sun sets gently
We stir and rise in the half light
Stumble our way home through the dark
Into  mole holes beneath
Magic Mountain