Dark of moon at mid-night hour,
work a charm on poet’s power.
Plant one tiny moon-seed crescent:
cat’s shed claw sheath, humble present.
Nature gives us all we need.
Intent sown, voice waters seed.
Shadow-mind and loamy earth
urge new fertile verse to birth.
Read aloud rhymes lead and golden;
others’ work, both fresh and olden.
Fourteen nights will words transform;
surrender, poet, to their storm.
Hordes of tightly-wound words curling,
grow to shoots of green unfurling.
Word-vines leaping like cats flowing,
manifest at Full Moon’s glowing.
Nature gives us all we need.
Intent sown, voice waters seed.
Should this spell provide no spark,
work again at next moon’s dark.
Published in Moon Water,
an anthology by Spell Jar Press
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