I am the moon’s daughter; unknown,
naked, shy, half-awake, idling, white, blind.
I dwell alone, in the cratered wasteland
of the psyche. I search for myself;
the eternal, a sense of something lost
perhaps never there at all. Perhaps
here all along. My spirit is pale, waiting
for me to arrive. It rests longingly
at each cardinal point; reaching, curling
circling, enclosing. Hoping to meet me,
It is there waiting, in every direction
and yet to be found in none.