<i>To the memory of my mother</i> <br /> <br />And now she has over her head brown clouds of roots <br />a slim lily of salt on the temples beads of sand <br />while she sails on the bottom of a boat through foaming nebulas <br /> <br />a mile beyond us where the river turns <br />visible-invisible as the light on a wave <br />truly she isn't different-abandoned like all of us<br /><br />Zbigniew Herbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lament-4/
