Luna

The Moon reminds me of my Mother,
her Mother and her Mother, and the ones before that,  
way skin crackles on the lake,
whites of your eyes,  
softened, glazed,  
somehow gazing down
on ancient beasts
and folk and fodder
all lost on someone else's tongue.
So, in circles of secret,  
come by, cast spells
press essence,
until energies awaken again
or instead compose
incantations on the sky -
when you can,  
just go out,  
watch her thrum her goodnight.