The full-moon mountain

Beneath the full-moon mountain,

in a meadow cleft between cliffs,

there pace her flower-petal feet.

A pale, dim path they trace, 

toward her moonlit ascent.

She rises with the moon. Though power unseen, she is not blind

who follows her inner light.

Wherever she walks

with soft sureness of step,

all darkness abates.

Her grace, some say,

is what our world awaits.

Excerpt from my book in progress: "A Hymn to the Feminine"