I could ask far stars
to hide their fires,
but there’s always a light
to soften dark
and you planets, who
hurtle on in captured arcs
might think to influence us
with astrology,
but we’re all trapped
spinning by degrees;
from where I stand you
just inch your way,
while this pale moon, well,
she has better sway,
pulling tides; spinning her
salt blue intrigues,
her sympathetic shadow
might hide such things
oncoming fates send twisting
towards us.
Who dresses in gaudy shivering
ice rings?
Warped curves, far fetched
on a barren horizon,
watching over with cunning
cold flame,
bearing one giant baleful
eye, red with blame,
sends messages to spindly ships
in free fall,
fireballs who spit ire,
calling cards on the squall
to thwart the docking of
the mother craft.
We weren’t looking to spin
about the other,
I wonder if anybody does? Pulling
a plug
draws whirlpools, two
small specks that gyrate
pushed powerless together,
in dance conflate,
rotate in attraction beneath
her celestial cool
and winds these tightening
lines into spools.
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