LOVE

The moon peeking through my kitchen window.

Have you ever watched the night?
when slivers of stars cut through
to accompany the moon
already laughing,
self-aware of its splendor even when new.
The moon knows it will grow
big, round, projecting a sheet of glow,
gently caressing whatever
rests or moves on earth,
singing a silent lullaby
to those who glisten
in her beams of soft flow.

Must be nice to be the moon.
To go around the world

brightening it,

loving it,

even when clouds darken its view,
or people create sheets of smoke
concealing beauty, constricting growth,
strangling their own Mother, who gives
all.

The moon keeps on
being,
beaming,
doing
what it knows.


(Submitted to Poets United.)