Granddaughters

We shift our bodies

Under the moon

The sky is ripening with stars

Busy as a river 

Full of silver fish 

Alice has a fever

Too many thoughts

And dreams 

Her cheeks are red

But her eyes still sparkle

Starlit on the eve of December

We sail away on our boat

Well really it is our bed

And a mixture of potions

Fluid as a bird

On the wing 

It is funny to think

We are somebody's granddaughters 

She whispers 

It is funny to think 

We belong to anyone

That is the way of the world 

I suppose 

I wipe her brow

Ssh Little Cricket 

All that matters is you and me.