Moon Maiden A momentary gift that neither hands nor heart could claim forever. We talk obliquely now that she’s full-grown, as though between the words, quick-silver memories might weigh us down. If only ~ ~ ~ But the lilac has to fade and evening bird-song drift away. The Moon remains, the ancient Sybil shielding Mother-Daughter mysteries. What was what is what’s yet to be
Now full now unobserved now waxing waning once again. Each phase contains its own epiphany. Mothers and their daughters navigate the mysteries by passing Ariadne’s saving thread to one another.