Mare Imbrium

Grandmother Moon hide me in the snowy
blanket of your light, let me see the
secret life of the woman who walks with golden
candles in the night through this the city
of my discontent. Let me see her stories
& her songs, the girl triumphant in
her monologue, the young woman's careful
choice, the maiden taking account of her
truth, not trusting the slick solutions
of the paranormer players like this would-be
Magus.

Good for you.

Mitred corners enclose me, in this frame,
I look and suddenly, she is there, Eleanor
of Aquitane, that tapestry at the Cloisters
fair Annalise under the boughs of the holy oak
Kimberly, smiling that knowing sacred grin
across her desk. "Later you."

My heart is drumming her lyric self
each cycle greater than the last
the notes describe the melody of this life
Grandmother Moon
help me be worthy of Her song.

This piece was written before Kimberly and myself started living together in late 1996. I was deep in the knowledge of the Lady by then. Graves' The White Goddess rested on my bed table. It had suddenly come to me that Kimb and I knew the same sorts of things about the nature of being, the universe itself. We both had adopted the prism of the Lady in how to approach and live our lives. And, I was totally falling in love with her. That pretty blonde woman in the editor's office, who smiled at me when I walked by. Every day I still strive to be worthy of Her song, the Lady's and Kimb's. This is still the most remarkable event of my life: Kimb's love.