The Leaving


I have left your shores,
a whispering wind is calling,
sea tossed and low cloud;
grey
have been my days.
Long winters
I have spent,
withering on the vine,
your discontent ~
my hero’s journey.
Lay low, ~
soft,~
stillness
becomes us
now.

In every woman / lover relationship,
there exists
The mother / son

Boys leave their mother's arms
only to return
in a differnt guise