Moonsong

moon and tea

Something lost, something found,
A trade, a gift,
An ego for a soul,
The setting moon,
A perfect ember,
Paints remembrance across a lightening sky.

Another moon, keeper of a sacred mountain,
Rolling leaves, drawing water,
Charcoal and flame, perfume and steam,
Hot metal, warm clay,
Two nested lives,
Stitched together by the mindfulness of tea.

But soon this quiet song is gone,
Shouted down,
Lost in the noise of dawn.

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