Gentle and soft,
tonight our moon is crimson like a sigh.
can't she look so sweet
without us
Running our little feet
fresh across the ground?

Gentle Mother moon
She has a quality like you--
her skin is less placid, though.
Her hair covers galaxies
and creates creases where air once lived.

Like a fire, she becomes crescent, burnt,
an imminent star burst.
But, like most light, she likes to leave.