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el niño

I imagine your fierce entrance,
arms outstretched in
anticipatory embrace.
Young statue,
My Declan,
An Irish Saint,
Blood of my blood,
Soul child.

And I set sail on a sea of trees -
Premeditated.
Yet your absence haunts me,
longing to hear your
staccato vowels
and lyric syllables
of love and life;
sadness and fear.

How I hate the powerlessness,
Unable to traverse the distance -
the signal weak
but ever strong in my heart,
Boy child.

Two sleeps left,
do not fret, as I do.
Be still and happy,
celebrate my imminent return.
And know that I,
your Matriarch
shall ceaselessly turn
until that morrow
when the Sun shall burn.



© 2000 Dianne Monnier. All rights reserved.