her face

Moon rising over the Ponte Vecchio bridge, Florence, Italy
her face

that face she shows the world
you know the one
it shouts ‘together’ and strong
smart and capable

that face fades out of view 
you know how come
she wore it way too long 
under the surface, mostly misunderstood

that face she holds in her hands, 
presses it to her heart
allows it to soften
and dissolve like a morning mist

her face flowers in the light
her true essence rising 
like the moon across the night sky  

being the moon

moon over San Agustinillo, Mexico
Being the moon

Rumi said, look at the moon,
how it grows brighter 
as it patiently tolerates 
the dark night. 
Oh, that I could be a moon
shining brightly,
even as darkness is growing,
to be luminous and glowing, 
so open and full 
that hopes and dreams
are offered to me.
How I would hold them
in the softness of my palm,
wrap them all in calm stillness,
set them free into the realm of possibility
where the sun carries them into being. 

If you love the moon as I do, you might be interested in another poem I wrote: the moon speaking.

The Moon Speaking

 The Moon Speaking
  
 I remember that night, when I was full-on 
 in my shiny best, I got a glimpse of you moving 
 along the sandy shore. You caught my attention 
 as you skipped from spot to spot on the wet sand 
 where the gentle waves caress the earth. You were chasing 
 sand crabs. Whether teeny-tiny or the bigger ones, those 
 armored beings always beat your lumbering foot, like a giant \
 overtaking them, back into their little bitty holes. You
 giggled at their speed and spoke to them in laughter. When you 
 tired of your rollicking pursuit, you paused on the sand and 
 gazed out over the water to the horizon. Your spine 
 straightened like a tree in the summer sun and your chest 
 curved ever so slightly toward the sky, like a baby opening
 her mouth, hungry to be nourished, completely trusting 
 her mother. As if just noticing it’s the light on in the room 
 that is keeping things from being dark, you look my way. 
 As you lean back with your arms wide in a heart-centered kiss 
 of communion, I sense your imagination unfolding like a flower.
 In the mirror of my being, you see your power, your beauty 
 and strength. You claim the truth: how you simply need to be,
 emanating your light, in phases, not always glowing in your
 full glory because sometimes you need to rest. 

Click HERE for an audio recording of the poem.

This poem is part of an online collection I call All the Shapes of Joy.