On Starless Nights, She Stole Little Sips

Poetry

She poured the moon in a Mason jar
labeled it, “Silver fire”
on starless nights, she stole little sips
tasting its ancient mysteries

Shh, just listen
can you hear the moon singing
like an owl whispering on the night
she knows your name

Every star strikes a chord
but no chord sings like the moon
she holds the leftover fire
of an already burned day

More than ashes, she is a Phoenix-promise
the day may come, but the night will follow
the day is all burned up
but she drinks the moon and rises to meet the night

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