What is this whisper, the breath of dawn

which fills the air with quiet light, and which

tells me, tells me as my soft gaze goes on

that the earth is our home, the mother’s sight

of her children splashing in the sea?

The whisper must come from my own mother,

from her blown hair, from the blue air set free

to call us back to each other, to days

when the meaning of life still made sense.

And so here, here as someone who prays,

it is clear now that I have scaled the fence

to see the ocean true on the other side—

yes calling me back to her, to life,

birthing me again with the lit tide.