Flower Moon—How She Travels

She moves only by night and on a south wind.
The wild ducks are her envoys,
flying ahead,
scouting the ponds, summoning
turtles and dragonflies out of the beds
of roots and mud.
The wagon she hauls with her
is full of new leaves
which she sprinkles over the trees as she passes, crying out
the words necessary to birth;
and small fish
she shakes into ditches and streams;
and once I saw her
lift from her wagon the Flower Moon,
round and full and milk-white
as a woman's breast,
and she kissed it,
she sang to it,
she tossed it high above the trees, then gave
another to the shining river.

Oliver, Mary. Twelve Moons. United States, Little, Brown, 1979.