waxing and waning

Crescent Moon and Venus 8-2012

Up before wrensong,
the crescent moon and I whisper
so as not to wake the day.

She in her nightgown and I in mine,
we sit on the porch
in the cool air of early dawn.

And she listens.

I tell her of my fears-
numbering my inadequacies,
trembling in my regret,
tears flow freely
as the early morning dew.

With her sweet comforting smile,
she tells of her birth –
new moon to slim crescent,
waxing to full, rounded glory
to only wane past gibbous
into the palest slip of light
to be welcomed into the dark womb
of restful night.

Waxing and waning,
we each sigh
as the dawning sun
and the wren greet the day.

heron wings

Blue Heron by Gary Dorland

Early morning fog obscures the eastern ridge,
holding the dawning sun at bay-
resting its gray blanket across the still waters,
soft as the color of heron wings.

Warm fog obscures the bath’s mirror-
holding the real world at bay.
Resting your face against my neck-
softly our hair entwines, the color of heron wings.

*** for imaginary garden with real toads 55 word prompt and poets united poetry pantry