New Poem: The Transit of Venus
The Transit of Venus
Mute rocks and burning suns
fall, unknowing, from their blind orbits
into dumb alignment.
Through dark glasses
we gaze up and wonder
at these far symmetries,
projecting onto heaven’s canopy
untold desires for order
amid the spinning choas.
Venus, we call her, is in her transit.
In our blindspots perhaps we know
that all astronomy is deep psychology;
love moves us, draws us into new gravities,
shadows, and is gone.
To be re-posted in 105 years…