The moon lives down the lane. I knock on her door when I want to be seen with kind eyes that have watched me become from a neighbor's distance.
The silver lining of extraordinary times
is that each night the moon still shines.
Grandma Moon,
Mother Moon,
Moon That Grows in My Belly,
under your pull, I teeter, then sigh,
for the edge, the universe,
is as far as it is nigh.