Of Magic, Mortality, and Morning

Three Poems for a New Week

The brilliance of the recent full moon inspired this first poem.

The Queen

Do not gaze full-faced at the moon tonight;
She is too clear, too buoyant, and too bright,
Hanging atop the arch of midnight sky,
The stuff of which our dreams make magic, high
And puissant.  She, the queen in hallowed space
Alone, with not a cloud to touch her face,
A queen, who sits up…