Moonlight Rose

The day with moonlight
rose beyond my touch,
and bade my memory
(so distant now)
to see another snowy space
within my mother’s eyes,
not thirty winters on.
My first month
and hers entwined then;
and now we see the span
is nothing
and everything.
To us the eddies
of our paths,
like swirling flakes
upon the wind.