He put the moon in my hand
     long before I knew
          the measure of its weight

          It felt like almost nothing
     as if floating
above the reach
          of my fingers
    

               It had no special features
          to reward my wandering eyes
     as they continued on elsewhere

And there seemed to be no reason
     to keep it in my grasp
          so I soon returned it
               into my father's hand

                
                       But afterward I felt it
                resting in my palm
          growing heavy and then fading
       in phases without sequence
or boundaries of time

Barely perceptible
     like shadows pulling forward
          it guides me still

               Leading me past emptiness
          lifting me past hope
     rising highest in the darkest hours

I see its face again