The Winter Moon

She stalks, bright and unfettered, through the endless night.
Darkness holds, but never contains.
Dreams, and the promise of dreams, tatter like clouds in her wake.
Only the cold, the bitter, burning cold, remains.

Passionless their fire, the starlight neither shields nor yields.
The soulless watchers of the night, who surveyed
Without compassion, without concern, without disdain.
Remarkless, relentless, undismayed,

The Huntress, questing, never closing with the quarry.
Driven, and driving all hope before her.
Weaving between the empty-eyed watchers
And the empty heart of the night that bore her.

Eternally alone, formless in the shifting shape of the hunt
She stalks, bright and unfettered, through the endless night.