The Curve of the Moon

When night unfolds its deep fabric
This sky becomes a dress I wore when I
Was just a child: my garment's pure blue hue
Sapphire of twilight slipping into indigo night
We wear together the delicate brooch
Of silver-white moon rind

Woman and daughter, I wonder: Would you seek
Shelter there inside the moon's sickle curve
Within its thin but waxing rocking chair
Silver sleigh of snow in the vast blue field
Of my dress, a healing place where
The echoes of day cannot follow?

I'll give you the moon from my garment
And fit it with comfortable things:
Deepest sleep and endless peace; a blanket, too
So you, weary woman and child
Might rock together in solitude, safely
Cradled in the curve of the moon
Wrapped in my blue-hued dress