Banishing the Moon
Your red clover words unstitched my pillow sachet,
Sifting out the moonflower and yarrow glyphs,
Insisting on only heavy lavender remembrance.
Shall I embrace this moonless remembrance?
Shall I pillow my heart on duty’s bitter sachet?
What healing is in those cinnamon-less glyphs?
The hazel tree whispers of profound glyphs
Which marry dreams and speckled remembrance
In a waft of stars and Irish moss sachet.
I am your sachet, weaving glyphs of forever into your remembrance.