The Moon is Waxing

the blue moon wild
antlers at the window altar
low — for this room
is well rooted into the earth
quiet ground where we are led
down to our core
and up the sides of the walls
towards the rising moon

when we finally rest
our breath is unforced
a bed of drying calendula
rest on the slope past the window
there I rub its seeds
into my hands
and take this place away