sara Etgen-Baker Poet Other

CRESCENT MOON OF UNSAID THINGS

         _.._      the dark thin arc of night cut sharp against the dark, a silver slice holding everything
        .' .-'`   I never voiced. The sky leans close listening for the quiet inside me. I walk beside 
       /  /    the curve feeling its pull--a soft gravity made of longing. Stars drift around its edge like 
       |  |     like thoughts I meant to release. The crescent keeps them gathered in its half-light 
       \  '.__.;   hollow. I lift my hands toward the arc hoping it will widen into truth. But it stays 
        '._  _.'    narrow, guarded, a blade of silence.  I follow its pale shimmer through the hush
           ``        of the world trusting that even a sliver of light can open.

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