Then there came a time

when my body was set free

by the lost memory

of my mother's loving eyes,

my body set free

to glide high riding

impossibly silent

flowing snowy slopes,

my body set free

to slide skinny

slip-stream strokes through

black and frigid crater lakes.

Set free by a memory

or was it just

wishful thinking

and not a lost memory at all,

not lost like the riding

and sliding.

So now here I lie

convinced that I

am ready to die,

quivering butterfly wings

pinned to crisp white linens.

Here you come now

to my side,

a newborn's cry

meeting mother

eye-to-eye.

What is this gift that

you ask of precious me

like a beggar

kneeling beside my bed

holding my hand

you say

I love you

and I will stay here with you.