His Goodnight Moon
The moon knows when a soul
wanes to a sliver of light.
Eternity dwells in the world
between breaths. A star falls
in a tear. An old crescent moon
harvests the glow from the
child’s face, draws his spirit home.
When a memory of light reveals
River Styx, sun and moon
stir the tide. Darkness bears
a new phase. Nothing remains
but the curve of his smile
on the waxing moon.
— t. l. cummings
First published in Songs of Eretz Poetry Review
Shutterstock image.
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