Moflower Mornings

I give you these words, to roll all you are to me
And package it for your forty-second year of
Striding, beetling, dancing and otherwise
Making your way across the landscapes of
Your lives: student, mother, friend, loner, lover,
Dog owner, sister, daughter, grandchild, niece,
Wild creature of urban nights, companion
Of glorious days where nature strays the line between
Humans and creation, house-mate with a book,
Mistress of a smouldering immodesty,
Yearning sacred-hearted for simplicities
Amidst shadows and darkness spinning
Towards the sun or staggering after-hours
Towards dawn with a determined intensity
And a glazed look of satiated pleasure;
Listener and sensible shoulder to
A handful of us and to strangers,
Drumming evenings into spoken words
That be-speak beat sorrows
With uncommon care,
Bitter, sweet and salty on your tongue,
Tasting meaning in yourself and in others.

So, this is for you, as you make your way
Through this time and place by intuition and by reflex,
Your skin attuned to the rhythms
Of estuary rivers, a home within a home within
A corner of this Age
Warmed by mercies and blessings
Streaming through the days we share.