The Sun and Moon

by Giovanni Sorrentino

Part 1: The Sun

Daughter of the Sun,

Niece of the Nile,

the sun does not shine upon you,

it leans in reverence.

At the strike of first light,

your skin receives its embrace,

radiating like gold within in its arms.

In its warmth, your beauty rises,

a morning star unshrouded.

Your eyes, twin universes,

unveil the hidden truths of the heavens.

With each step beneath its gaze,

the fragrances of earth sway to your tune.

You, who do not bask in the sun,

but command it.

To see you

is to behold abundance:

your hair, bountiful as sheep’s wool,

each curl is a hymn the sun has learned to sing.

So I leave you this,

my awe, my reverence, my devotion.

For silence follows you,

as it does in sacred halls,

for divinity has come.

Part 2: The Moon

The Moon has awaited its turn,

longing for you to see its value.

It cannot blaze like the Sun,

but offers what lies

within the quiet embrace of the dark.

In its silver gaze

your skin turns blue.

Blue as the deepest oceans,

where mysteries lie.

And your hips,

like crescent moons in motion,

sway with a rhythm the tide remembers.

You, daughter of daylight,

still, the night worships you:

softly, silently, wholly.

As one worships a god made of starlight.