The moon last night
hung low in the sky
peeking through the
white pine in Cynthia’s
yard . . . and we women –
four walking, working,
weaving, women –
stood in quiet awe –
the admixture of one
part joy, one part
silence and one part
nameless within each –
side by side – lined up
for the firing squad of
earth and all her friends’
display – the beauty
we walk in like the night*
_____________
Hat tip to George Gordon, aka Lord Byron.
