honey & lime

In slow cadence compared to the world,

I wander below a field of stars

glimmering in their wide arrangement.

It is always here, beneath the whole of things,

I find Orion none the wiser.

It is always here, thinking of you

I realize there are parts of myself people

will always take before asking;

perhaps, because I don’t reproach love

for being moneyless, sanctified.

Some nights, I watch Mars red flare

and believe in science fiction.

Some nights, Jupiter and his mandarin storms,

may pull on me into my temper.

Most nights however, I remind myself

nothing truly manifests as important.

There is no dire need for work:

the corporations make that a necessity.

There is no grievous hankering for more:

consumerism is a pulsing tooth

in the mouth of a hungry country.

Nothing truly matters, but that does not

abscond the fact that it isn’t beautiful.

Vanity of vanities, this thing beauty.

Tonight, a Luna moth lands on my knee,

and I dare not move. I dare not scare it.

It only lives for two weeks, and yet

for its fraction of a moment it is here

landed on my body, resting.

There are pieces the world can’t take

from us, not even if we dare it.

I wish you were here to see me,

statuesque and penitent

of all I was not prepared to give

and as I lift myself onto two feet

watch it, touched by an apparition,

as it flutters away searching for light:

this is what it means to be mortal.