In early morning hours
with dawn a blush,
moon rises in the east,
cloudless skies,
a sliver of light.
I watch her go dark
quarter to eighth
to this last slice
before departing
for days of rest.
I feel that time,
light slowly receding,
draining idle thoughts
and difficult dreams.
Then the coda of rest,
that sound cease,
light depart and healing come
on wings of darkness.
There is fear of permanence,
but the moon speaks softly
in the pale sky:
let the cycle be.
There is dark,
full and blanketing,
and once more
there will be light.
I watch her slowly fade,
yielding as the sun begins its rise.
I follow her
when not seen above
only felt and understood
in the beauty of her passing.

Photo by Gavin Spear