No one knows the moon
Like the sailors of Galicia.
They saw her rippling reflection
Illuminate the mighty Atlantic
And they named her Lúa.
Like blowing icy smoke rings
Toward the stars that forgot them
Like reminding the harshness
That a gentle life perseveres too
She draws forth their livelihood
And stitches up the buttons of the sky.
Mother of all beacons
Daughter of our home
The single knower of the language of the sea.
Feed us fish in soft light
And remind us we are fragile forces too
As we drift up to meet you
As we drift on back home again.