when I was a child
I dreamt of the moon
not the one that rode the skies
but the one that carefully wove an ocean
Like a planned clockwork
in beginning half of the month
it rose the ocean to the stars
and dropped it to dirt and dead
in the second
I must have resented it
for looking so angsty & red
for agonizing me
with a life that doesn't exist

that same moon lives in me
passed on from mother in her womb
which I shall give to my daughter
controlling the tides
tainting her red and dirty
and making her ancient, ruthless

Divine