The night was warm; the night was still.
The air was soft and sweet.
Above the trees and river calm
the moon rose full, complete.
So big and round, a perfect sphere,
Mind's fullness, undivided, whole.
And then I realized
that when the world says incomplete
(full moon does not appear)
it makes no difference to the truth.
I never doubt the sphere.
The fullness of God's being, ours:
the manhood, fearless, strong,
the womanhood, so tender, pure,
to each and all belong.
Whatever mortal mind claims real—
however incomplete I feel—
this cannot touch the wondrous fact
that I am now complete, intact.
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