Fresh moonstones of milk
shine on my baby's open lips,
her warm breath filling night's sails.
Tiny chest rising, falling, rising-
a snug craft lifting on the wave,
slipping out to sleep and sail
in home waters again.
My dreams hold babies
sailing in seas
never closer than night's horizon,
seeking mothers to anchor them
to dry land,
floating out-ever out of reach
of my once solid berth,
now but a phantom limb
that yearns for the babies
still at sea.
Denied dreams, endless waking
locks me to the shore, dry-eyed
scanning a moonlit sea
from my widow's walk. And the sea
continues its rise and fall and rise
in treacherous calm, belying
the capsized craft below.
by Sharon J. Roe
Hallie Moore's work has appeared in a variety of journals
including Calyx Journal, Blue Mesa Review, Texas Review,
Borderlands, Spillway and Fourth Street. She lives
and teaches in The Woodlands, Texas, and recently completed an MFA in
Poetry at Antioch University Southern California.
E-mail Hallie Moore at