i think i see my mother in infrared
her body blazes a fiery red
in this dark, a human-shaped bundle of light
charcoal in a campfire that burns, still

i cautiously march forward
air bites my skin and trees whistle with fury
eyes wide open seeing nothing around
her and everything of her

sometimes i see her crouched on the ground
a steady hand, soft from the frozen wind
picking and planting words and life
mustard seeds, blankets of soil and root

i am one of these seeds
impatiently awaiting its season
her father’s living water quenches its thirst
everlasting, her soul set on fire.