mother poem

short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
she might have known it in the earlier spring
this ancient silver bowl of mine
better than granite
splendid and terrible your love
out of the window a sea of green trees
the long resounding marble corridors
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
white foam flower, red flame flower
the stars fell from heaven
in an old chamber softly lit
the shadows of the ships
world that changes under my hand