The Floating Moon
A child, delicate and inquisitive, points her finger up
At a shape in the midnight blue night sky, and she
Asks what it is, but no one is around her; she promises
To visit the force of nature every time night arrives
During the day that follows, the little girl gathers
Plants and insects to venerate it; in her basket sits
Lobelias, aquilegias, nasturtiums, and foxgloves;
Silverspot butterflies, bees, fireflies, and mantises
Impatiently she waits for the atypical shape to arrive,
She sits at the base of the oldest oak tree in the forest,
Sorting out all the flowers she gathered to pass time;
Yet time is still going by slowly, the sun steadily setting
When night arrives and the birds end their serenades,
The girl jumps up to greet the floating moon; carefully
She studies it, forming her petite fingers into a square
That rests in front of her face and she stares at it
With a stick she traces all the designs of the moon,
Following the dark gray pattern that looks like a rabbit;
Coloring in the white fireworks and the light gray splotches
That make the moon what it is, the light of the night
The girl suddenly feels a deep connection to the moon,
Powerful and luminous; she feels that it is where she belongs,
Gazing under the moonlight, watching the fireflies dance;
The floating moon is calling to her, telling her to smile
The smells of the flowers, delicious, sweet, and pure;
A waft of aromas and fragrances circle around her,
Hoping that she will never want to run and hide away;
The girl smiles up at the moon and dances elatedly
The hooting of owls, the warbling of late sparrows;
The chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs;
The rustle of leaves, or the nearly inaudible breezes;
All the noises, quiet and loud, lift her spirits up
She begins to touch everything around her while dancing;
Her hands feel the smooth and jagged rocks, and the
Dry, coarse bark that covers all the trees; the soft wings
Of a bird or butterfly, the tenderness of a wooly leaf
All the different fruits that have grown around the girl,
She tastes them all; the bitterness of a fresh lemon,
The sweetness of the sugary strawberries, the crunch of
The crimson apples, the spongy inside of a violet plum
The girl feels as it she has made a connection with the
Moon that gazes and watches over her protectively;
She enjoys every ounce of magic that it is giving her,
The smells, tastes, sights, noises, and tingly sensations
As shadowy dusk gradually turns back into vivid dawn,
The petite little girl plants all the flowers back into the
Rich brown soil, delicately digging holes in for them;
Her perpetual connection with the moon still in her heart
I actually understood most of that.