LaMeta

The moon, alone, depending on one, giving off only what it receives. Keeping the world from the dark while the world keeps her in it.

Father told of her, La Luna.

Told of her tale. “La Luna te mira cuando no la estas mirando, pero cuando la miras, se esconde.”  The moon sees you when you aren’t looking, but when you look at her, she looks away.

She plays games.

An illusion of blindness in the dark. Like feeling death in a storm. But there is a candle in the sun. She dares it guide her way, like sails that move without wind, that doesn’t sink without water. Sol take my darkness. Sol give me light. Sol, warm my soul.