The Moon Speaks

The moon is not silence,

she is a pulse, a secret drum beating behind the sky, drawing oceans to her hips,

pulling our blood like tides,

reminding us we are mostly water longing to return to her gravity.

In the dark, she blooms,

a silver wound healing itself night after night,

waxing and waning like the fragile rhythm of our hearts.

She is the magician of shadows,

turning absence into wonder, and emptiness into light.

And we;

we are her restless children,

dreaming wilder under her gaze, carrying her mystery in our marrow,

forever circling her pull,

forever undone by her glow.