Naming the Moon

This year, bitter cold grips March, and it's hard to call
tonight's moon the Full Worm Moon, no earthworm casts
on snowbound earth to herald return of robins. Rather,
this seems the Full Crust Moon, with snow cover crusting
after daytime thawing and nighttime freezing. Endless cycles
of release and reclaiming, of breath of spring and blast of winter.
The Full Crow Moon is a distant possibility, for on warmer mornings
I've lately heard the cawing of crows, signaling winter's imminent demise.
Soon, sap will ease in maple trees, and the Full Sap Moon will fit.
No matter the name, this moon, on this frigid night,
in this last month of winter, just two weeks before Vernal Equinox,
harbinger of luscious spring, is the last full moon of this dark season.

Names, Shakespeare said, are inconsequential, but somehow
it seems important to put banners to things like moons
or beginnings or endings. Somehow, there's need to name,
to pinpoint endings, to herald beginnings.
The moon itself rises faithfully, named or not, but life
begins and ends with perhaps more ease
when its moments are left unnamed.