the orchestra of the night

surrounded by fireflies making wakes in the night skies and honeysuckle hands stirring the silky threads of the cocoon. and i am here, turned inside where the light has returned. where the voice of our mother sits deep in her cross-legged way and calls me, again. strumming music from her limbs being played as a violin, and i am laying amongst the orchestra that is slowly finding her songs inside of the night: tucked away beneath the stars, in-between the facets of our own becoming, underneath the homelands who first held our life. and here, i listen as a soft hum begins to sound from above and i watch as the oceans fill the skies: waves rising into the wind and slowly laying unto the shores. her call echoes across the horizon and i see him coming from afar, from some place in the mouth of the sky; i call back and begin to sing.