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
                 where you stand,
         in something more than words.
      But you’re beyond my wish, too, now,
                 into yourself,
          living into some life
      of strange time past this one we share,
          strange and all your own,
                 where your moons
                 will plane away
          the details of your presence.
      The pillars that your bluejeans make.
The cotton blouse roughened around your heart.