Mother Moon
by E.E. Karn
She is weighty
On the horizon,
Slung low,
Swollen, impossible to ignore,
She is all womb.
She climbs slowly into the sky,
Her birthing room,
And I wonder
It is made
So difficult for her,
Laden with life,
Nearing her time.
She is exposed
To the darkness that opens to her.
Full now, she will be barren.
She outpours until
She is nothing.
She will give all of herself
To restore celestial radiance.
She will give out, but
In her extinguishing she bears
Emergent, living light.