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.