MoonSpring

The moon,
which once lived alone among distance
of constellations shining mother clarity
like a hub threaded the spokes
of two worlds vague but gold with hope,

has drifted
in a stately descent of lunar mitosis
to settle in the glow of your eyes,
peeking daffy wisdom, joining questions
to similitude, bearing vaporous honesty

to earth,
where rain or tears nourish the living
loam. So now I see that spring is not
a myth but an issuance, a birthing
of belief straining forth from darkness

for love
replenishes the world when I kiss
the tears released from Luna
or your eyes it’s all the same passion,
budding freed from the cell of doubt again

to grow.