I heard a song as faint as
The tide’s prayer,
’twas the voice of mountains
Where my soul was born.
“It is where my child waits,
Drinking the aniseed tears
Of Ishtar’s womb,
I want him to wait more.”
Buried within her eyes
Was the same ode to the gone…
So I learn in my reflections
That break, abandoned, by her shore.
ahorsealone 
Your poetry is so dreamy.. I know it’s about the real world but sometimes I feel like it’s not.
I know where it is all coming form- form watching the Moon rising over the mountain when you were a little boy. Is it inappropriate for a mother to tell his son:”I love you?”