grandmother poem

you are clear
rocked in the cradle of the deep
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
i gazed upon the glorious sky
let us pity those who are better off than we are
days endeared to every muse
all those treasures that lie
in and of itself
a look is but a ray
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
i wonder where you live
at midnight
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens