i talk, and she listens
how steadily she listens
to every anxious whisper,
every wail of grief

i smile, and i glow
and she glows back
moondust made of fine gray hair
a serene face laced with scars

i never learned
how to sew, or cook
but i can make potions,
and write prayers

and i am nourished with the milk
of the still night sky
and the sugar of stars
ready to be picked like ripe cherries