The child priestess questions the night


The child priestess questions the night

Moon am I
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
(not I with awkward frozen feet)
where the Pole stands
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.