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.