Beyond Always

The moon blossoms pink
like a flower, and in her dreams
she hears it sing, bird-voiced, asking
who is listening?

Who oversees the deep-rooted dusk
of winter’s purple sky,
and blushes when she meets the dawn?

Girl-child becomes mother, and still, she hears
moon song, the secret language of after-storm,
the dance of dappled light, the sound of spindrift
suspended silver in the air as the sea breathes a sigh.

She hears every if
in the wobbling moon’s warble,
listens through rotations and revolutions.
Bella Luna, I understand, she murmurs,
as she closes her eyes for the last time
while the moon hums a lullaby.