she is ether

Written on the one-year anniversary of my mother's death (12/06), but edited and written in my journal on 1/07.

She is ether

and I am silent,

complacent,

watching her as a mist

rising over the mountains -

a favorite spot

from where I sit in a vast meadow;

The sun has just risen,

and golden slats of sunlight

pour through her

as the wind wraps her arms

tighter around me.

She is thought; she is formless;

She is ether.