by Amy Wolstenholme

                                                                     I never understood
                                                   the fingernails as moons
                                    depiction, but when you g
                            rabbed my finger suddenly
                     I was orbiting, (saw a perf
                ect pink moonrise crisp as
            a sea shell, white curved pa
         renthesis gently closing a s
    ky) and there was a univers
    e in you or you, suddenly t
 he universe, a ragged moon
  against the black, a lullaby
 softly raging, and your brea
 thing hit me as forcefully as
   lightning (the wonder of yo
    u, my love, in your simple e
      xistence) and I could have b
        een no more astonished had
            the moon come drifting do
                 wn (fragile as a soap bubb
                      le, still brimming with dre
                             ams) to hold my hand, say
                                     ing you are one with the
                                                       tide and I will move you
                                                                         beyond all imagining.