Saturn and Jupiter have become intimate with the horizon. They are lights glowing in a cabin in the woods, one in the loft, the other on the table beside an open book.
Reading Their Eyes Were Watching God is like living through a hurricane. In Zora Neale Hurston’s novel, God is a hurricane. And fate is a rabid dog. Life, though, is a song on the lips of love.
What is entanglement, but the lucky chance to prune?
Venus is as bright this morning as a young girl’s eye. Her face is the sky.
December 2, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces