I’m not the flip side of the sun, although that’s how I’m presented in cloth books for babies. I’m not merely the monarch of silver or shadows or home of owls and bats, mother of mothers or keeper of clocks or menstrual cycles, though I am all that. I am the bright place in the midnight sky. I am searched for and watched night by night. I am praised. I watch over you when you sleep. But remember, during the day I am there, too, hidden behind the swagger of the sun.
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