The silver moon is set <br />in harvests unseen, the pleiades <br />rush home across half the night <br />though the night is never spent <br /> <br />i lie alone, with sappho <br />ready to bridge fragments <br />of my human body-shell divine <br />The golden moon is set <br /> <br />in harvests unseen, o queen of songs <br />voiceful, with the heart’s wild cry <br />storm-tossed I gather spirit <br />across the all-unattainable hope <br /> <br />that heaven’s empyreal blue <br />will never be fully lost, always recoverable <br />in some future where the moon <br />hangs low and love’s feet brush dew <br /> <br />across a soft-cushioned bed where <br />i rise a pillar of light, where my <br />descendants regard across fields <br />on planets with many moons!<br /><br />Seshat Nibada<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mid-autumn-moon-festival/
