Sweet smell of orange
lingers on my tongue,
in simple glistening moments.
Astir, the waking of a sleeping babe.
Soft and pink,
curled like a kitten.

A passing flit of wings.
Thoughts so thin they stir the heart.
To flutter in opening,
like waves crashing on a stone
cave in the ocean.
The foam frothing,
seething, receding.

The swaying of soul,
in days these first.
From taught worry mixed with panic,
to pure gold bliss, and
love so wide,
it knows no boundaries.
Wings dark. Wings light.
The fluttering of eyelids.
Ours and the tiny one’s.
In delicious moments of sleep,
like wine drunk sips,
pulling me under.

The moon now setting,
a glow of silver cast on sleepy skins.
I awake to the purity
of the morning light,
touching forms distant in the folded night.
I patter to the kitchen in search of food.
Our grey cat my ally.
Only to return to warmth of skin
moments later. In this
morning in time.
I stir to the call within.
The unknown, yet known,
voice of motherhood.
Deep in my chest,
buried like a well hidden secret.
Under the cave in the ocean,
where the waves of time crash.


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