Let me just glimpse
the undiscovered terrain in phases, my hidden

mouth half-open with prayer of lustrous sun.
We are not lesser lights. 

The illuminated half holds the mystery of itself
in crescent arms. Faint earthshine bathes

what I can barely discern as a wholeness
against the black void

of space. You and I stare to pin down
the ghost half,

materializing then vanishing. It may take
a whole life to know that the dark of the moon

differs from the night,
that what is bright and what is baffling

orb together, full.

“Soul as Half Moon”, from the collection Butterly Nebula, by Laura Reece Hogan