this moon is new, once again.
she's so old.
she's been up there
the entire time, aging,
growing ancient,
being reborn to our monthly lives.
is she dead?
does she look down on us
with cold dead eyes,
feeling the frost of space,
of time, dictating
her diction of the tides
from beyond her grave?
is she alive but silent,
motionless, mute witness
to the terror of love and war,
weeping silver tears,
constantly rebirthing herself
through the world's women?
all i know is she falls into the sea
on cloudless nights, disappearing
whenever i need to reinvent myself.
she beckons me whenever i am
at my limits, overflowing with light,
with darkly muted light,
lifted to dreams and forever
searching for her hidden heart,
needing to understand myself.
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