“Moonrise”

Just above whirl the sparks
and the planets in space.
Their silver tails leave wounds
on the dark glass of the sky.

Tonight the moon mounts
the slow steps of the spheres,
raised like an idol by holy hands,
scaling the edge of the night.

At the summit the light lingers,
awaiting its worldly worship,
then descends, riding on ropes,
borne on the back of the air.

Like a burning crystal,
the moon has been sent for you.
It lights and carries your name
to a place beyond the sound
of the whistle and whirl of stars.