for my daughter

You noticed it before I did,
the flat spot
in the moon’s low corner
(or quadrant)
caused maybe by a cloud, you said,
or some disturbance we can’t see.
While you looked up at it,
from your feet
the long black plank
of form and flesh
stretched in shadow behind you.
You must have felt its pull,
because you turned
from the flawed moon
and faced it,
like something you’d forgotten there.

I felt real happiness and pain
for your time in the world,
where it’s easy
to feel two things, both sharp, at once.
Caught between your shade
and source of light,
you smiled.
It seemed
you knew, as you’d not known before,
that it was you,
singular, selfed.

The moon changes
in and through you now.
Tide. Wave.
I want to catch you < ...

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