A Mother

A mother projects her fantasies into the ocean;

We, the words sent swaying towards the sun,

The eggs of stone, the shards of prediction.

Since she should finish up her tune

Furthermore, fall back to the sweet dim quiet of One,

A mother projects her fantasies into the ocean,

Expecting to cross that wild vastness

Furthermore, on some newborn child shore again to run,

The eggs of stone, the shards of prediction

Outside the searing circle of memory,

The yelling surf, the unremitting years scattered ...

A mother projects her fantasies into the ocean

And afterward disintegrates into an embroidery,

Her rolling, defenseless float again started,

The eggs of stone, the shards of prediction

Above water again upon endlessness,

Again the outsider wrath, never finished...

Once more, once more, her fantasies into the ocean,

The eggs of stone, the shards of prediction!