Mid-March Moon

There is a low moon rising
in a purple sky
tonight I see your wonder rise
above these houses and their
family lights
you die and yet are here
each year reborn
the blood as sap rising
and the heartbeat of the earth
keeping time to an ancient tune
long since lost from our arcane 
ears.

Your fears are cold
your words are blue
but call out purple in the night
bright white light
to split the heart
low moon rising
half concealed the curve
in dunes and alleys
of our minds

the spirit ways of trees and shadows
dried up river beds
and shallows
tangle of scrub and plastic bags.

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