July 26, 2018 (Faithful Moon)

Here I am, Faithful Moon.
and there you are again, too.
How lovely you were last night
floating above the roof of our house
here in Baton Rouge,
just as the day before
you graced my sky
above a sublime
and tranquil meditation spot
on the side of the tall hill
beside the ancient bastide
of Tournon d'Aganais.

A mortal being of my kind
might well think
that after 4.5 billion years
of circling, circling, circling,
floating, floating, floating,
gazing down unceasingly
by night and by day, too,
watching over every part 
of this charming garden of an island,
watching the lightning strikes
galvanize the foaming soup
to form seething protein puddles
wherein clumps of cells
 glopped into bundles
and after a few more hundreds of millions
of orbits
spewed forth improbable plants
followed a few million more
by a genius's mad parade
of every imaginable permutation
of fantastic creatures
swimming in the warm seas,
crawling up onto the bare land,
devouring one another,
being devoured,
coming and going,
coming and going,
appearing and disappearing,
until just a whisper in time ago
my eccentric little kind
 emerged from the forest
and spread inexorably
in desperately surviving bands
like a blanket of water
all the way
to each and every corner
of all those imperceptibly drifting land masses,
on the path to becoming their rulers.

(I saw the immortal work they left
in the dark cavern of Pech Merle
I saw the mammoths,
the horses, the bears,
I saw those hands...
their hands...
the hands of an artist)

Yes, after all those hundreds
of thousands
of millions
of transits,
one might well think
a Moon would become a little weary.

But, someone who looks
a little longer
and a little deeper
knows better,
someone like
me.
 Foolish men insult you
and falsely call you "pale"
and "weak"
and "the lesser celestial ruler;"
but, I know who you are,
my wise
and patient
Queen of the Heart.