Moon of the Sea
Beneath the crush of indigo weight,
She keeps her silent, silver state.
A crescent carved in sapphire bone,
The queen of depths, on a coral throne.
Her hair is a garden of drifting vines,
Where the anemone blooms and the sea-star shines.
Each heavy stitch, a current's trace,
Moving in shadows across her face.
She does not breathe the silver air,
But feels the stars in her tangled hair.
No sun can reach where the secrets lie,
In the velvet dark of an ocean sky.
She pulls the tides with a ghostly hand,
A dream of water, a ghost of land.
Stitched in silence, born of the deep,
The Moon of the Sea, in her sapphire sleep.
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