The rising moon may be the least of it,
grand though it is, between the firs
across the fields

The rising of hope may be a greater thing,
and the sense of purpose and delight,
and the intuition
that where we find each other
is in a different place
from where we are offended –
that, indeed, offense cannot be possible
in the innocence of being what we are,
the gift to all of us our being brings.

©Wendy Mulhern
July 1, 2023