It’s Was Never Just A Phase

i. Wolf Moon 

An unkindness sprawls against star lit canopies. 

Flakes fall drunkenly, flood my eyes. 

I expose my throat, call out in hungry song. 

ii. Snow Moon 

Snowdrops bulge the hardened ground. 

I smear the crocus ocean like oil pastels, 

tilt back my head and let it take me. 

iii. Worm Moon 

Patient soil ruptures under feet, 

arched hearts, cold blooded, no teeth.

The maple trees are dripping. 

iv. Pink Moon 

Incubated dreams lay still in twigs, 

moss phlox fertile on the horizon. 

I dust my hearth and burn the words. 

v. Flower Moon 

Vibrant life, letting go of past burdens, 

a balanced scale, spectrum of hues. 

Bask as sunlight rests on my shoulders. 

vi. Blue Moon 

I drag the night across the floor, 

chairs listening for the room’s forgiveness. 

The water tells me to stay salty. 

vii. Strawberry Moon 

Earth claims appetite without apology.

Heat slicks down my collarbone,

while fruit of labour quenches my mouth. 

viii. Buck Moon 

Power grows back on crowns, 

roots tightening along my spine. 

Branching—blood-warm limbs. 

ix. Sturgeon Moon 

The river carries its year in curves, 

plated in silence, never rushed. 

I put my feet in—relearning the current. 

x. Harvest Moon

Dusk settles in learned patience. 

Harvested hunger shadows me, 

my wrists feel the weight of the unripened. 

xi. Hunter’s Moon 

The fingers do not mistake the forest, 

brush strokes of grass and rock. 

My pulse traces the silver line of movement. 

xii. Beaver Moon 

Gnawing through old growth, 

my jaw knows the geometry of shelter. 

I mark each corner; my head rests on the grain. 

xiii. Cold Moon 

The sky rests in me, frost laces the panes. 

Mother knows the language of winter, 

I cup my mug—let the darkness shine.