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 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 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.