When the moon calls me home (Marcella Boccia)

When the moon calls me home, I go,
soft-footed through the silver air,
where midnight winds and rivers flow
and none can find me anywhere.The world behind dissolves to mist,
its voices drown in hush and glow,
no lover’s hand, no priest’s cold wrist
can hold me back from what I know.For in her light, I am unbound,
no chains, no weight, no name to own—
a whisper lost, a ghost unfound,
when the moon calls me home.