There’s the very slightest sliver of a gibbous moon
Over the western hills.
Never have I seen anything quite so fragile
with the roundness of the moon shadow
Suggesting the fullness of womb.
Light reflected with such delicacy
From the power of the sun’s great light
that star around which we all turn
hidden now in night
on the other side of this green globe
we call our earthly home.
Hiding from us here
making dark and mysterious night
when we are to enter
with inner sight
all other worlds
and travel unfettered
Wherever we say
Becoming even the fusion of matter
In the midst of that great golden globe
That, when it returns
to this side of our sphere,
will give us the world
we call day.
