Gathered by avid thermals,
the downy nipple rises from nested bed,
sails the length of groves,
and embroiders the soil in gossamer
when she lands.
Fresh gliders follow their sister in flight,
freighted with seeds that trust the wind
to lift and spill them free.
Ghost stars that surrender
to be flung into the future,
they drift in currents that flow beyond lifetimes,
feathered travellers who ignite wishes
hushed from candles to palms of gods.
Fluffy as eiderdown, these tufted legacies
weight their fall with massive purpose,
Zen pilots seeding blossoms for the pollination corps.
In the same way, when compassion
flies the nest of our minds
to meet the world’s loom,
connecting threads weave furrows
for kinship and love to sow their crops.
Just like the time a grieving daughter
received solace from a stranger,
a wedding guest who said,
“My older brother was your dad’s friend forty years ago,
and I used to tag along with their crowd of high school buddies.
They all mostly ignored me,
but your dad showed me how to dribble and shoot a basketball,
taking time to coach me. I never forgot that.”
No matter how fragile,
filaments spun from empathy
go home smiling to the unknown,
shimmering pilgrims with the power
to comfort a yet unborn daughter
whose father lives again in the story
of kindness that defies death
and returns to bless the living.
The daughter at the wedding
can no longer conceive a child,
but she has faith that gentle generations to come
will cultivate expansive families,
communities both chosen and given,
whose deep bonds testify,
“We are all of love-bearing age.“