02/22/2026
When the Moon Wears Her Name
Beneath the great round moon,
she stands
hair like midnight rivers,
dress like a sky stitched from the dreams of her ancestors.
Every bead, every thread
is a story the stars remember.
The wolf’s cry rises,
not in hunger,
but in honor.
It carries her name across valleys,
through pine shadows,
over stones warmed by the sun of centuries past.
She is the flame that survived the long winters,
the heartbeat hidden beneath iron and glass,
the wind that bends but never breaks.
Her spirit runs with the wild horses,
yet walks unafraid through the cities of steel.
In her hands,
she holds the sun’s first fire
and the moon’s last tear.
Between them,
she walks the path of all her mothers before her
fierce as the hawk,
gentle as the rain,
eternal as the sky.
🎨 Art by Serin Alar
🖊️Poem: Piahn
