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Chiricahua Moon

The milk-rich moon
nurses the yearning of the night,
eyes dilated in ecstasy,
chanting timeless prayers
of gratitude and wonder

Coyotes suck deeply
of thick colostrum light,
their yipping and yowling—

now in eager demand,
now in sated delight—

lingering, lengthening,
sweetly mysterious,
voices folding over stillness,
as they trot silently,
furtively, stealthily away

Then the moon,
watchful, wistful
stands slowly, hands pressed
to the small of her back,

moves along a glittering stream
to a distant rest,
to tend her fire,
to sing her sacred dream,
to sup with the sun,
before, in the circling of the stars
with her long skirt swaying, she returns.

—
Jeffrey Richardson is a retired journalist, as well as an author and poet. Born and raised in Southern California, he spent 35 years in Alaska where he reported on and worked extensively with First Nations communities throughout the state. He now lives in Central Oregon.

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Have you read these poems:
Against Isolation by John Milkereit
Past Tense by Maya Muir

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