About the way the moon
Rises over cold snow
Night after night
Faithful
Even in its fading from fullness
Slowly becoming
That last curling and impossible
Sliver of light
Before the final darkness.
But I have no faith myself.
I do not give it the smallest entry.
Let this, then, my small poem
Like a new moon
Slender and barely open
Be the first prayer
That opens me to faith.
Healing