To A Moon Child

You sleep like an animal in snow cave
as the moon floats past your window,
its jagged, white-peaked mountains,
the cold granite shining like snow.
You lie in the bed with eyes closed,
a mouth shut against screams,
unable to speak in any tongue.
The hit and run stopped it for good,
muted your voice in the bed.
My voice bounces from window to moon,
from moon to your window, your bed.
The ancient bell of Buddha tolls
once, twice, thrice, then no more.
I will descend the depths of craters
and float across the valley of shadows
to be with you when your eyes open
and you reach for my arms
in the last shred of moonlight.