There it is:
I can see my mother's face
- My mother is dead -
I can see my mother's face
Shining from my daughter's face.
A little girl face,
An impish face
That's suddenly sullen, an uncontrolled face,
Elastic, practice face.
A face becoming face undecided face,
Stormy and red.
Her first face a windfall apple
Rising backwards through Autumn into Summer into the air, onto the branch,
Unrotting and unshrivelling into life
And ever so plump.
