enough

it is not enough to gaze through the sycamore's
waving shadow leaves towards
summer stars,
or to listen to the crickets and the dog
down the valley,
or to feel the cool air- the scratchy grass
on her back.

it is not enough to lay mutely in wonder,
alone.

her thoughts wander to the house on
the hill- whose television flicker
can be seen miles away.

she blinks warmly and swallows.

her memories arise from crevises hidden
by day in the light of others' lurking intellects.
her memories arise and flit quietly through
an atmosphere of gentle aloneness until
that is not enough-
to dance in the cool twilight,
kingless and captainless.

the sea is not enough.
the rose is not enough.
the captain's stateroom is not enough.

empty, then, she reaches for a handful of
sky.  drawing herself up as though through
a window, she crawls into herself.

she crawls from her aloneness into her
own lap- the lap of the mother,
and it is enough.