The Moon

My intuition gurgled up and told me
that emboldened she would hold me,
that she’d correct, but never scold me,
and she’d ripen, yet never mold me.

She said that into coils she would fold me
till all roiled from how she’d rolled me
I’d spring forth as she extolled me
and bring forth all she’d foretold me;

A whole person, now made holy
from how it was she’d hold me,
from seeing, simply beholding,
my light shining so boldly.

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