the old man said
you are pale
and need more yang
earth between your toes
Obsessed, Daughter stays in her room. She opens the windows and stares out at the sky. Her black hair streaked by moonlight, glistens. Her skin casts an ephemeral blue. Chanting deep into the night, her eyes grow dark and somber.
in a never ending
stream of consciousness
the winter moon
She chants for days and nights, breath upon breath, whispers in the air. Is this a dream—that soon will end with the melting snow. No, it’s too late. Her hair becomes midnight, her face radiant. She can’t be stopped. Father must let her go.
Out from the window she ascends making the legend come true. The young daughter twirling in moonlight—spiraling on mist—grabs a slice of enlightenment and never comes back again.
The finger pointing at the moon is not the moon.
September 14, 2021