Have you seen the Goddess Moon tonight?
She rises flush, the color of ancient, bleached bone.
Magnified by her own regal-ness.
She hangs above the charcoal black tree tops.
Her reflective, pale light diminishing and
intensifying as her dress of wispy, threaded clouds
moves in front of her seraphic face.
Fae, built from shadows of canopy and the sound of twigs breaking, dance in the Moon's undulating radiance-- a reticent waltz.
Not far off-- from behind me, from in front of me,
I hear the fox cry and the coyote yip.
Then a call I can not identify, a rasping,
weighted down with mass and age.
A scraping made by heavy stones grinding together.
Perhaps it is the door of the Barrow opening.
Allowing one courtesan reveler to
come pay ancient homage to the Moon.
A night-breeze blows out of the east
carrying the smell of Ipomoea and Almonds.
In her light the Oak and Maple leaves wave and shimmer.
The forest shakes its coat of green,
waking, after a long nap.
Enraptured, I stand, letting the poetry of the moment,
the master surrealist-- my own mind, paint
impossible murals of symbolic meaning
from what I observe.
Overhead her pale Majesty receeds up,
Her magnitude reducing as her distance increased.
I watch her go...
Have you seen the Goddess Moon tonight?