She is gone, gone, gone. The last. The Elder Moon. The Mother.
Sweetly fierce about where to place her own feet.
A deep and gentle current, lingering upon the banks of kindness.
There are adumbrations of her etched in children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Whispers and anthems. They walk among us, lamenting the sudden night, trying to forget the arrows that pierced her heart before she fled to chase the sun.