She has a name
Known only to her.
She shares it with travelers,
Poets, playwrights, adventurers
Who come and stay a night with her.
They laugh and love and sing an age away.
Away, where mortals cannot die and heroes
Become what they always were.
She calls to us,
She beckons us.
To her home, she says
A tavern in the briny way of taverns
More salt than beer, more revel than bar.
She calls us home
Shows us randy wayfarers
Just what it means to be celestial.
The laughs are deeper, more bass than tenor,
More song than sonnet,
& Every single layer
Of my encrusted, barnacled hide
Sloughs away, away again to better years.
To the soul my friend,
Down, down to the bottom of my soul
Goes the cheer, goes the beer.
That is her gift.
The Lunar Tavern:
Run by the moon,
Whose name we call Luna,
But her true name?
Well, that she freely shares with all her guests
But, alas, alas, not a one, to a man,
Remembers it come dawn.
We know its beauty, it makes us weep.
I think I know it in my dreams:
The name of the moon.