The child priestess questions the night

supermoon1

The child priestess questions the night

Moon am I
not
for the light in my veins
chills cold as Atlantic swell
carrying ice floes
to dance around the Pole.

Light swells
cold as moon
and round and round
dancing
(not I with awkward frozen feet)
where the Pole stands
gallows-stark
beneath this winter sky.

Am I Moon then
in pale reflection
murmuring to stars
where they dance on still water?

Pigeon shuffles on her dark branch
and in the rattling of her feathers
I hear soothing mother-words
that say
go home and sleep
as children do.