Pictures of her daughter
In frames of Damascene sky.
A pebble playing with water.
And eyelids kiss for the first time.
Stitched to a mother's unborn heart,
Waiting for her to finally pause,
Ponder the difference between the sun,
And the glass pyramids she is dedicated to hate.
Treason has a taste,
A swirl of mold and lead.
From a distance I watch,
For a sudden,
Twitch upon a thread.