Bereft

I got up to close the blinds against the night,
Because I wondered what eyes were looking back
From that nest of night and dreams, the black.
I realized something when I had shut them tight:

I felt, in an odd way, bereft of something true,
Something that I could not live without seeing.
But I had done this before, and did not think being
Without the sight of the evening's dark blue

Victory over sunset could cause me any pain.
I sat there, and wondered what it could be.
Then I decided I should look out, and see
What lurked there, just to be at peace again.

I peered between the slats of the blinds then,
And caught my breath when I saw the light.
The crescent moon shone there, pure and white,
Ancient mother of the world, mother of men.

I do not know how long I peered through
The slats of the blinds, my gaze moonward straying-
How long I stayed there, as if I were praying.
That I had seen the moon in glory, I knew.

I moved away at last, and sat there thinking.
Then I pulled the blinds high again, and night
Came flooding into the room- but so did light.
I sat down, the beauty of the crescent drinking,

Some part of my soul no longer aching, bereft.
I never knew I needed the moon to survive.
But somehow only in its light could I strive
To understand something of my own weft,

My own notes, the tapestry and the tune.
My roommate came in and saw me cooing,
And asked, uninterested, "What are you doing?"
I did not explain; I said, "Looking at the moon."