How The Egg Heals

I've been reading about how trauma

cracks the egg of our heart.

We rush to seal it off: to prevent breaking, 

leakage, but also, 

hatching.

My love

My love flies on silent owl wings,

anticipating a return to her nest,

Long through the dark night she has waited

patiently keeping the secret 

of where she's hidden herself and her child.

Her voice clear at last where was once only cloud

She questions the howling winds:

Whose voice is that?

Whose?

Whose?

Not mine. Voices of trapped ghosts. 

Winds are stilled. The seal is lifted. 

She descends through the fog, silent wings spurring the mist into ribbons -

banners that fly in the name of 'Alive'.

Her daughter will only hatch on her feet.

Reunited, 

they are the same warmth in the night,

becoming each other; 

Phoenix-like 

incubated in darkness

reborn in clear moonlight.

Love, and 

I am,

and I love.

I am love.

My love has been waiting for me.