• Sez Kristiansen


The moon and I: risen and fallen innumerable times silver mirror of a thousand faces orb of oracles unspoken sphere to Sun's softness thinned out into a sliver and then full-bellied again birthing stars beading galaxies onto our lunar loom bathing in infinity only small when too far from home, holding a sacred piece of ourselves back, making men made with our mystery. our celestial bodies, mothering saltwater as if it were babe, earthing down our weight as if we were to suddenly d r i f t a w a y shaped by forces outside our own but holding it all together despite the darkness. the moon and I, same of soul, kindred keepers of stories untold.

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