grandmother poem

there was never a sound beside the wood but one
their beautiful hair
from floor to ceiling
among the mountains i wandered
glooms of the live-oaks
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
i make my shroud, but no one knows
but alas, just dreams
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
this is the ship of pearl
world that changes under my hand