An mixed media collage and poem about cycles of productivity and rest – and remembering how to be.
The Artwork: Waning
The Poem: Waning
Does the moon
shed her roundness
like a snake
sheds herself?
As she turns
her face from us,
pulling her darkness
through the night,
squirming out of an
itch that cannot be
scratched,
does the month
take a bit of her with it
never to return?
To be “oh you, big and round!”
forever and always…
Why can’t we have that?
Why must we allow
a losing of minutes
a pile of pieces
a flailing of space
and a trust in the falling?
All must wane to wax again.