After I talked with those thirteen good women
On love and abortion, I noticed the moon’s
Golden warm growing. Its crescenting ship
Swung through my ocean, till I rocked in the one
Salt, the one wisdom, we’d woven: our nest.
Held in our silence, I heard us together.
“Abortion is beautiful,” crested our voices:
Millions; dead, living, our hands linked together;
Trusting these bodies, Her body—as honest
As waves that the salt ocean blood hears in one
Heart-beat, together. Our crescenting ship
Rode through millennia, under tides’ moons:
Salt nest, salt courage, salt, weaving, salt, women,
