A bright moon rises
full in its faithfulness.
Grass rises up through
the cracks in the earth,
generously breaking
the season of emptiness.

A clear light shines
from behind the clouds,
a half circle ever so perfect,
ever so reliable.
The tides come and go
as does the heat, the dark.

Tell me of a day
when the moon stayed the same,
when nothing moved an inch.

Tell me of a day
when the world didn’t swoon
in rhythms embedded
in the least blade of grass
or shining star.

Tell me of a day
when there was no death, no departing.
Tell me of this and all will cease,
lost in a tight grasp.

In pain and presence, fluidity and love,
ever the world flows on.
A ribbon of geese fly
toward a billowing moon.
They are already home, along with me,
in this tide of time.

Counterpart to: a dark moon rises