Milk of the Moon

By Janet Childs

I lick the milk of the moon

drink it in like water,

I’m sure it is waxing full,

the flicker of a candle

which has been my spiritual root

to the stars.

I gaze at the skylight

(in my open eyed bedroom,

everyone else asleep)

at the slanted light.

Creamy shine of the full ‘snow moon’

winds around the casement

of our small home.

I send energy to it all;

the Ukraine, the Middle east

where people are murdered

for being themselves,

for our unhoused; the silent, grieving child.

I pray for a blanket of healing,

a touch of comfort,

a moment of sheer holiness,

the breath.

I can hear the faint sound of bird song

It swirls right before dawn,

where I would wish for one more ounce of sleep.

Maybe I need to be awake

to chronicle all that is human,

holy and flawed.

In the night turning to day,

In this turning of the wheel