Chani Zwibel

Blue moon before
my bridal month,
you pull my blood,
night’s fair orb,
milky goddess,
when I try to take
a picture of you
with my camera phone
you become a disk of light
in the background.
Closer to me is the street lamp,
with its ugly orange haze.
Silent as stars

my daughter’s eyes

appear in dreams

as pale moonbeams

she speaks with a mouth

as yet unborn

she waits behind willows

I have no answers

for her as yet.