When mystery is attacked, the moon deprived of
Artemis, inert, dead, material thing, but when the
Ancients thought of the moon, their souls grew crescent.
They saw the life generating power of the tides, honeymoon
Engendered from the moment of creation, kingdom of
Regenerative storms, this mystery—cosmic power cradled
Between the stars, the questioning darkness, riddles straddling
Incomprehensible void that no telescope or microscope or
Oscillating instruments can do naught save reduce creation,
Stripped of all life to anonymous burbling particles where the
Thing itself slips back into mystery—life remains there somewhere
Beyond the greedy materialistic grasp, rocking in its
Vacuumed cradle, that it would, if it could smile back and say
Only the heart knows the wellspring at heart’s center.