Before she is turned away
for the last time in the moment
before the new world begins
harrowing her like a field
and the sun and moon disappear
and the stars and the houses
suddenly become illustrations
in a book no longer to be
believed burning to ashes—
before the earth beneath her
rises up through her body
slowly， every green cell
yellowing in the aftermath—
just before this begins and
it begins constantly over
and over in the secret nucleus
of mothers quietly humming
at every second continuously
she breathes the odor of honey，
his hair still the odor of honey.