By: Christiane Demack

Can you see the joys
of the mountain-tops,
The grandmother’s silver
in your golden hair?
Can you feel his arms around you,
can you smell

The fire of the camp-site,
and feel
The sheer power
of the wolves?

Can you sense the fading
of the moon-beams
Of impossibility –
And the strengthening
of the Vivid and the Possible?

Can you see the pages,
Blank and Covered –
Can you see your mother and your daughter

Can you feel the beat
of the earth’s
endless drum
the rhythmic dance
From here, to the end,
and back again?