Poetry for Brigid

To mark Imbolc (aka Candlemas, aka Brigid's Day), here is my selection for the Third Annual Brigid in Cyberspace Reading.

The Moon is Always

The moon is always you, and I am drawn
to trace the ripe crescent swelling around
your hip, the arc of your throat, the classic curve
of your eyes, and the velvet indigo shadow beneath.

You are always the moon, and I ache in your
absence, although you never leave me for long,
lingering late into the morning and ascending
again in the afternoon, balm for my sun-blind eyes.

The moon is waxen, bloodless.
The moon does not have your mouth.
The moon does not contain your breath.

You are never the moon, but your dimpled
skin is luminescent, it gleams and lures my gaze,
my hands, and I am always reaching for you.

The moon is never you, but I arch to your rhythms
all the same, and I weep relief with the crashing
tidal pool upon your every return.

The moon has a profile that changes with perspective,
and I have written encrypted love poems within
its every dimple and shadow, secrets that borrow
light from our love making to illuminate
the stars and blaze our skins and stories across the sky.

This moon is only for us.

Chandra Mayor