My mother, the queen of my heart,
Reigns in my sky like a moon,
Pulling the tides of my senses,
Lighting the paths of my dreams.
All melodies hence will play subtly
Against this first, dominant theme
That will turn their most delicate graces
Into harmonies they’ll never hear.
Nor can I visit the garden
Where once I lay wrapped in her arms.
The doors of the past will not open
Though I live ‘neath a dome of pure joy.
By Nicholas Gordon