Whimpering wet against my belly,
searching, suckling blind,
you are deaf to my mother song -
that rises from the deepest heat of my belly,
and drifts, gentle, into the sacred blind
of snow and ice, the savage blind
of slow death. I sing the mother song
to silence the growling of an empty belly -
the belly that shiver shelters you - whimpering wet, suckling blind, and deaf to my mother song.
An arctic tritina for Real Toads and dVerse.