We are both so full of it,
I and my mother.
Full to the point of bursting,
As a sparking kiln.
Foolish in a poignant way
As we weigh and fold
Our overlong gold veil,
Trailing in the cold rain,
Soaking and seeping the way forward.
At our core, yearning
To dissolve into tall mountains
And a gray sea;
And grace is what she calls it,
And free is how I name it,
Growing younger every day,
Growing fuller, bursting.
Falling into faith and
Faring that great ocean—
Safe because we are so full,
I and my mother.