the whales. the weeping of women.
sea of planet, sea of womb & salt
             & not-womb salted milk
             or womb-heart spilling out
             or whomever labors for the world,
                                 weaves up the wound
             or makes a womb of palm, shell,
                         lantern, lung:
                         any dispersal of light.
the fruit of your
                                      everything you give
I kneel not
to supplicate, I kneel
to place more distance between my flesh
and the marvel                                     above me.
                         I knee to the earth so it will be easier
when the time comes, to say yes to the invitations
unfurling from the grave. such as.
             find me in all the mud everywhere. how the rain
             makes of cracked dirt a liquid body, I cover you.
             watch me spark rising from the wood. ember
             wishes reeled in. the map to Heaven
             was always a sham.
I confess, I was never made
to shake obeisant. the clay of me         a widening circle
only trembles at what is beautiful. which is to say, broken.
the ripple never barters for its own extinction. the priest
tells me. Say ten Hail Marys, Ave Marias, & you
will have peace. but the Marias are mine already.
ave       ave      ave,  (the grandmother is a bird is an avenue
                                     is a farewell & holy)
                                                            an eave
mymotherhermotherandalltheother Marias seas
             believe.           I say, this is what it is
to pray to an ocean. My mother did not see
the sea until she was grown. But sea was name.
salt in me. a sea of seas, all the Ms I hum
all the Ms.
                         MMMMMs. We
of the Mountains. And the mOons that made us.
Maria Maria Maria Maria
                                                 Mar Mar Mar Mar
what the waves were always saying.
hoarse with the repetition of their mystery.
of mothers. mountains. wombs & mOons.
a memoryswell capped with foam. now
& at the hour of my death, a whale (a waterbird) sings.
a sea. holds light. we are everywhere mothers of gods
& moans. arched backs, wailing & wiling in the fruit
of the hour, our many faces skies. the stars our eyes.