|Hold the heart of stone in your embrace. Spread your wing over the troubled ground. Tip your head to her sleep. She is a dream of prayer. She was my dream.
I will with your daughter stay. When you are home tonight, spread yourself on her bed. She is where you take her, but I will enable the care of her body soul spirit.
You seem more than stone. Why do I think you more than stone? I have never seen a figure more tenderly wrought. Are we women together?
A child’s heart has become our home. We are women.
Who made your wings? Who draped your dress? Did you hold the granite heart when they engraved it, when they set my child’s picture there?
I am always everywhere at once and in you and here. These other things concerning me are at once known and essentially known as every detail of the child in my care.
Are you God?
You are given me, then, to comfort. You are real to me. I believe because I must.