Daughter

there is life after all the dying
moments of light stretched
become newborn skies

new worlds birthed in tiny footprints
build the scaffolding
that hold up the sun



Wife

there is life! after all, the dying
is just compost for the onslaught of days
we grow new universes
hidden in reflowering chive

this mud, this plot of earth
a garden as old
as our mountains, our river


Mother

there is life after all. the dying
is a life burning bright

memory is fuel, the days stretch
a grain of white sand beside jade water

a sun, this mud, an Eden no one knows
they already know how to enter