MOTHER’S HANDWRITING
her hand gently strokes after death it still strokes
each white deep-sea coral branching
refracted through layer on layer of roiling blue
cold as carefully-chosen words the first letter written to her son
in her own hand the seawater scours with its murmuring
the currents glancing through images of a little face
growing page by page with her scribbles
a drop of blood called love from the beginning
ripens each day into a stickier grammar
the son’s reply can only be sent against the tide of time
the son's gaze changes the direction of reading
up to a shivering illness not able to carry a word
her cut-off hands her ocean hangs above the page
a single inch away the blue ink still more dazzling
body heat curdles into a place the wind can’t blow over
coral lamp setting off a twilight woven of blood
the moment a poem gives birth faintly shining
as all language responds to the last word stymied in the heart
