In the phase of this burdened moon I see myself
Peering up with weary eyes at her, seeking respite
From her flight across endless night skies
She’s part moth –
An insect I fear like the blackness of death
Come to catch me when I least suspect
But her wings are soft as downy velvet
Soft as those deep brown eyes that watch
And regard the dark with melancholic grace
And though her small body brings much weight
To my rounded back and the orb of my face
It is the moth’s rightful place to take rest on me
On this moon, with its life-giving light.
Because in the loving curl of her tiny hand
And the upward bend of her too-pale legs
I feel her need for the shielding form of the moon
So when the stars blur her eyes to the path ahead
Or the fatigue in her delicate wings and her mind
Makes it unbearable to keep soaring on alone
The moon will always be there to guide the way
From its predictable station in the heavens above
And onwards, to the tender space of home.
To read more of Melinda’s work please feel free to visit her blog.