The moon is a turtle—
how have you not known before?
How she carries her home across
the parched land one step at a time
a reservoir of soothing elixirs
in her silver belly
for the people on the edge
for the people burning at both ends
for the people fearful of their own wholeness
For you—you who are on the cusp of tremendous things.
For she has drunk deeply
from the world
and knows how to survive the season—
how have you not understood this before?
How with her Moon-eye-point-of-view
and her pace with peace poured into it
she is not rattled by the noise
that reigns below—
how have you not noticed before?
How she buries her song egg
in the sand of the sky
always hatching new songs
and intoning the old prayers
of love and change
of light and dark
How have you not heard them
like this before?
How she carves a bright life in you
always coming and going—
you can’t make of her a bride
to keep in your house
as an ornament
But you must be the bridemoon yourself
When the moment of cracking arrives
and the sound is a marvel
heard by all the lovers out there
who have their faces turned
towards the big sky.
You are one of them.
You are one of the great lunatic lovers
with one ear pitched
on the horizon
the other turned within
the deep well.
And you discover the cracking never stops
That it is the cracking that draws the beautiful patterns all over your shell
that you buried in the sand of the sky
You discover that the moon
is a turtle
and you are the moon—
how have you not known this before?