Matariki full moon’s
Liquid.
Falls through an open window
Floodlighting a date palm on my bathroom floor
Honest moon: She takes no credit for the reflected glory of her liege - the Sun
Mistress moon: always hides her dark side
Yet, this night, no-one argues with her bright open faced certainly
Be careful who you accuse of wrong-doing
She is but the mirror to your questions
Your longing. Your insecurity
Who can you see in her fine cratered features but yourself?
Gazing back in wide eyed lunar wonder
This night
Barefoot soft padded down a Persian carpeted hall
Mother moon: has awakened the younger leaves
With droplet prospect promises of what greatness will rise tomorrow morning
Like the itching anticipation of desert rain – just enough to whet but never to slake. Exposed, spilt, singleminded
quenching a thirst emerging from months of dry-mouth sand circled wandering
Perhaps you, the constantly regret-laden journalist, are jealous
of the way the sweet palms new leaves wide splayed fingers
drink so trustingly at the Moonlit oasis’s one-of-many wells
relieved and spent
bathed in her everyeilding fullbodied nakedness
Fearless Moon
Green tendrils have no thought of knives as their fine-stemmed fragile backs are turned to you’re a.m. watch
Oblivious to what lurks in the night’s blindness
Drink up little ones, and suckle while you still can