HOLD THE MOON
At the foot of the dune
turn toward the sea
as it rushes on evermore.
Crushed cockles, clams and slipper shells
lay a carpet ‘cross the shore.
Hold the moon in your hands.
Let stars spread a path
along water’s foamy fringe.
Light the way as you trod silky sands,
lacy and ivory tinged.
Lay a blanket of sea grass to rest upon
‘til the early morning comes.
Horizon’s sun will glow and rise
coaxed by beams held in your hand
borrowed from island skies.
From my mini-book of poetry published in The Baker's Dozen: The Cole Foundation Collection: Volume II. (See sidebar)
My granddaughter, Kathryn, came to me one day with her little empty
hands cupped and asked, “Grandma, would you hold the moon?”