Swan song

The moon hangs senseless,
its swells all aglow
contained in essences unguessed,
or unremembered.

The sun dies in front of our eyes,
its fires all but claimed,
mortgaged to the teeth,
unable further to dim.

The stars still hold their own, it seems.
Orion still hunts the bear,
faithful mutt dogging his footheels,

bow at the ready, at least until
one or another of its strings
explodes across the sky,
uncontrolled, reckless.

If there’s a lesson in it for us,
mudbound, entwined, encoiled
in rumored codes, blind to the stipulations
of our own existence,

it will be told too late,
our gasps of recognition
insufficient to sustain us.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s