Moonchild
This child of the moon,
this dweller in the woods,
flashed into my sphere,
knocked me off course,
reeling into another part of the sky.
This child of the moon,
this dweller in the woods,
broke me open, bare,
drank me up,
leaving me with love’s long, spent sigh.
This child of the moon,
this dweller in the woods,
waxes, wanes,
hides, reveals.
Bliss and pain mingle in her woods,
lit by her moon, fueled by her tears.
And I am here,
bare, open, frightened by her light and her dark.
But here--
transformed by her moon
lost in her woods.
copyright 2000 Anne
No comments:
Post a Comment