A letter to the moon

O patient sentinel of silver light,

I write to you beneath your gaze tonight.

You’ve lingered long above my quiet days,

A pale companion in the sky’s vast maze.

You’ve watched me weep where no one else could see,

And held your silence like a balm for me.

Your face unchanged, yet always full of change

A cycle carved in time, serene and strange.

I wonder, do you tire of our pleas?

The whispered dreams, the midnight elegies?

Do poets bore you with their aching hearts,

Their metaphors, their moonlit works of art?

I speak not now to beg or to confess,

But simply to acknowledge your largesse.

You’ve lit the path when all the stars withdrew,

And made the night feel less like something blue.

You’ve been the myth, the goddess, and the guide,

The mirror to the ocean’s pulsing tide.

You’ve heard the wolves and lovers call your name,

And never once demanded earthly fame.

Tonight I offer not a prayer or vow,

But gratitude, as best I know it now.

For being there when no one else would stay,

For shining soft when light had gone away.

So take this letter, folded in my breath,

And tuck it in your cratered chest of depth.

I’ll look for you when shadows start to creep

My confidant, my lantern while I sleep.