Cheers to Mama moon

... All women loved dance in a dying light—
The moon’s my mother; how I love the moon!
Out of her place she comes, a dolphin one,
Then settles back to shade and the long night.
A beast cries out as if its flesh were torn,
And that cry takes me back where I was born.
The edges of the summit still appall
When we brood on the dead or the beloved;
Nor can imagination do it all
In this last place of light; he dares to live
Who stops being a bird, yet beats his wings
Against the immense immeasurable emptiness of things.

n Theodore Roethke, “The Dying Man”