The Moon

Tonight the moon halo shines bright.
Alone under the great eye of the night,
I stand little and small in its gaze.

Am I afraid in its sight?
No, I'm comforted to be in its light.
I'm reassured to be seen.

My realities shift like the sands on a dune,
my anxieties are secret, but known by the moon.
And like a rock that hates to be hewn,
I fight against the hands that would open me.

But the moon listens;
the moon knows;
the moon sees, and
the moon understands.

A halo forms the iris of the night,
and the deep dark of its eye is
illuminated by the small twinkling
of billions of galaxies distant.

The moon demands nothing of me,
expects nothing more, sees nothing less.
I am naked, bare, and exposed under its eye,
and it feels good to be finally seen.

The moon is not brilliant, but soft;
not incredible, but humble.
And in its humility it lights up our entire world
in its cool, all seeing dimness.

And I wonder, sometimes, on a night like this,
Who hung the moon in the sky? 
Who gave a source to its knowing light?

For maybe He is able to see me too.
Maybe He is able to make me unafraid.
Maybe I can stand naked, bare, and exposed in His sight,
and risk no condemnation at all.