Breathing Purity

Her ache
Touches me
Like a run-away train
Longing to be a meandering stream.

 Her voice,
A soft echo,
The timbre of past life remembering,
Its movement a willow tree's lament.

She walks
Paths unseen by most,
Holding my hand,
Maternal nature unbound.

When sleeping,
The quiet of her breath
Weaves thatched cover,
Securing my storm-filled dreams.

Upon awakening,
My mind begs the heart calm,
My spirit fearful of day's dawning.

She beckons I return to her side,
Stroking my cheek,
Assuring me
There be no light out there
Not already within me.

What healing comfort,
Breathing this purity
Before her eyes.