I have a heart
used to yearning.

To swelling, full
to the brim of presence.

To aching when
presence is absent.

When it is I feel
like a man looking
at the moon.

White and large
on a clear
night.

And reaching up,
up in vain.

I never hoped
I would hold the moon.

Though longing for it
has shaped me; has
made love a feeling
of horizons, of beauty
at far distances.

I loved, let
love fill me, and
did not hope.

And yet,

when I look at my hand now
I find it full..

And light spills from my fingers
to wash my arm, my face
in wonder.

I have found
what I sought.

And beyond hope
my longing
is ended.

For the moon is beautiful,
is beautiful,
is beautiful.

And all fears and doubts
are vanished,
for her light is cool
and blessed; and yet
draws a fire that flows
through me, bringing
hope, life, strength.

I have found my desire.

But my heart
is used to
yearning.

I will begin a new passion
as true, and longer lived
than the old.

I will hold the moon to my heart,
and meet my desire with my love.

And my hand will shelter it,
inward-facing.

May it always be so,
that my hand will shelter her.

That her light not dim,
nor beauty fade while I hold her.

That from my eyes
her light will return,
ever brighter and
more beautiful.

I have outstretched
my hand, and returned it.
And the light which
I sought dwells with me.

I am blessed,
and the world
is beautiful.

I am blessed,
and my heart
is full.

May it always be so.

May it always be so.