The Moon

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He is a furtive child blushing behind
His mother’s skirts while the sun rages
In a darkening sky, and then descends.

He climbs a stairway of stars,
Pulls down his curtain over the universe.
Rocking softly, illuminating the world below,
Everything is sweeter under his modest glow.

He watches boats skim misty waters,
Children lie dreaming, owls plunge from perches,
Trees sway under shady breezes.

He tugs icy waters back from secluded shores,
Sends waves swirling;
The ocean his bathtub,
The rolling dunes his sandbox.

When the rosy radiance of the horizon draws near,
He makes way for the sun, waiting patiently
For his turn to observe the world once again.





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