Moonbath: a Lullaby

Tonight the moon is a perfect pearl,
a seed floating in each eye as you gaze
up into earth’s softest sunbath,
photons fresh in from a lunar landing,
but weary of miles, ninety-two million out
to the iron-rich seas and glassy meadows
of a four-billion-year-old crater-pocked rock
and back to earth. Are you sleepy yet?
Tonight the moon is a snowfall,
light as particles drifting over your face,
your eyelids heavy, fine muscles letting go.
Can you feel the motes sifting down
through the stratosphere’s filmy clouds
and landing at last on your inner arms?
Tonight’s moon is a tarnished mirror,
a high whole note the coyotes call to,
their blind instinctual throatache unspooling.
It’s a waterfall tired of its rainbows,
turning everything earthly to smoke
and ashes, the day’s flock of angels
finding your body celestial enough to rest on.
Can you feel them alighting on long hairs
and fine ones like mist on grasses?
Breathe in, and each cell drinks
its drop of moondew, white fire gently
warming and cooling exactly as prayed for.
Tonight the moon is a birch leaf
afloat in the solar wind streaming past us
toward Pluto and thinning to nothing
like the song of joy (remember it?)
welling up in your limbs, as they sail out
into deep space now, buoyant with sleep.
~ Margaret Holley
Atlanta Review p. 1
Spring/Summer 2006

red moon.jpg

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