COUNTY LULLABYE
For My Mother

Speak me your fitful firstlight,
even cockshut light,
purple groundlight
under far trees.

Tell me your greening bonelight,
slanting rocklight,
falling stormlight,
ruddy as flame.

Word me your winging windlight,
nodding flowerlight
in winging windlight,
fallow and blue.

Cry me your hollow lealight,
towering hill-light,
swagging southlight,
in beading rain.

Breathe me your beaming treelight,
dipping boughlight,
dripping twiglight,
drupelet and pome:

Your many-mirrored
musters of pit flesh:
apple and berry,
berry and plum.

Sing me your spinning streamlight,
shivering shoal-light,
level calmlight,
after the whelm.

And let your song be
profluent as water,
chequered as treechange
changing color:

grassemerald, stumpdark,
boughblanched, hillheavened.
And let your song be
as soft and simple

as quavering sickcall,
childcall whispering
I am afraid.
And let it be hands

bright as small lanterns
facing the housedark,
five tender glosses
appearing approaching

doubling redoubling.
And let it be sleep:
Sleep now, my little one,
hush now, sleep.