weaving the unspoken into every wing.
I knew the language of the high grass, and was wife to the Sun--
I was opened and lined with light;
in return, I bore the whole green world from within myself.
I gave everything to the flow of currents,
until I was nearly erased, a shore-stone smoothed and smaller.
I let myself lie in the curve of the lunar crescent, then;
I became a kind of egg; a cocoon.
See how I am now gathered and spread, myself,
on a loom of silvered night-water--
Sea-changed, I kiss only the Moon.
I am both mother and child, a surface rising.
I embody what some have called betrayal,
but what I know is just the cello-round within me, humming.