i sat in my cold stone room
choosing tough words, granite, flint,
to break the ice. My broken heart –
i tried that, but it skimmed,
flat, over the frozen lake.
She came from a long, long way,
but i saw her at last, walking,
my daughter, my girl, across the fields,
In bare feet, bringing all spring’s flowers
to her mother’s house. i swear
the air softened and warmed as she moved,
the blue sky smiling, none too soon,
with the small shy mouth of a new moon.
from The World's Wife
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