Woman with the blue hem,
this man is your son. This
is the dusty-faced big-handed shepherd
sent to gather your sheep-dreams
from the scattered meadows and the worn-down trails.
Your son is dead. This stranger
is your son. In the cooling light
greet him with a warm hand
and welcome him down the sand path to your home.
He is no carpenter or fisherman,
but he is yours.
Welcome him into the house of your heart
and leave the dead in their stone tombs.
Put out a torch to guide him.
He will paint your doorposts with blood
and no one will harm you.
Love him and he will love you.
He is your son,
woman with the worn blue hem.