Cranberry Moon

I have held my fingertips up to 
the cranberry moon

whispered to
the one who

splattered this sky
with a set of paints,

whose palette was so
multi-hued and
full of myriad blues,

whose brush reached brilliantly
to touch orange peaks,
and lush and verdant valleys

whose amethyst knife carved
dark chasms in grey stone.

I have looked in my daughter’s eyes,
felt the same awe inspired intake of breath

Fill my lungs and expand my chest

I have lifted her fingertips
before my face 

to stare at the

rosy pink crescent
beneath the nail.

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