Mama sings to her sweetheart,
a mysterious man in the moon.
She points out eyes and a face, but
I see only rabbit ears, a crow’s
beak, or shadows tangled like lace.
ancient words from the
mariner’s rhyme: The moon
knows best how to minister - by
making brilliance bearable - for
brides who dare not gaze
full at the groom.
about kisses and misses
and grown up blisses
swirled over my childish head.
He watched and waited,
till finally I saw him. Now,
I want to marry him too.
I read Malcolm Guite's "Faith, Hope and Poetry" slowly. I spent time ruminating long in the section about The Moon and the Mariner. A spiritual feast.
We met Malcolm at Kindlingsfest last summer. How apt. This is how kindling happens.