by Nicholas Andrea
Gentle golden crescent
Hanging low in the nocturnal canopy, this eve
Reclining like a hammock strung between two trees
How you steal me, tonight
How you pull a broken man from his shell
I asked the Lord to break this heart
and you appeared, a most unexpected savior,
my friend of the ages;
when have you ever let men down
In all these long aeons?
Your golden hue reflects the one that gives light
to all these things, seen
just as the one deep inside this heart
reflects that which that created it;
what does it mean to be created in the image and likeness of the One
and what is the way home to that
if not upon your vessel, mother
the light that travails the
mysteries of the dark?
How can a man such as I
look upon your beauty
and not see his salvation
a sure guarantee?