Sheila Jacob writes

In these uncertain times

I watch the mountain

from my bedroom

window, see it shine

clear above a falling

caul of mist.

One flight

of dream-wings

and I’m patchworked

across its firm full

breast, lulled

by a throbbing

deep faraway-down              

in the bowels

of weathered rock

locked & enmeshed

before seasons

and habitations

when ice melted,

wind sang,                                   

soil and seed

packed cavities

of risen stone                      

and God the Mother

suckled her creation.

The Creation of God -- Harmonia Rosales