She feeds them well plays twilight games
and comes her time she runs a bath lights
candles on the sink along the edge of the
tub and on the frosted window sill throws
colored beads into the hot water and strips
while they spread the damp closeness of
cedar. She piles up her hair and pins it
with raised arms that lift her breasts. She
arches her back thrusts those mother hips
and sways to unheard music in and out of
the light shards that dance like splintered
moonbeams through pine and hemlock
and she sinks into the water slides under
the candlelight the mirror sends running
like oily film across the wall with the towel
rack and the ceiling pulsing like northern
lights all colored stripes waving curves and
surrenders to the ancients and the icons
huddles with them in the slipping moments
tilts back the universal head and sings.
Adding your comment:
that last line is definitely the kicker though. 
