Give up some words, petal.
Let them drift casually through your fingers.
Let them go.
On the palm of slight breezes.
Iâve witnessed a few births
But not my own.
Imago mundi
Your face in the sun.
A crown of rays
The flower of creation.
Who knows what a mother feels
As she watches a daughter
Some part of herself
Slipping casually
Into the world
and through her fingers.