He told me of the days of caves
and how, in his hot youth,
he’d forged a crater,
licked about the heels of St. Paul’s.
My mother did her quiet work at night.
She kept a vigil for the boats at sea
and sat with the wives, who prayed.
And when her strength was gone,
my father folded his flames about her corpse
for warmth.
Elemental Dialogues 