In a Blink

Last night, as Jupiter
danced with Venus,
I thought of you

and you and you,
and all the lights,
in our varying

brightnesses, depending
on the day,
or early dawn as it were,

and how,
when we come together,
and move apart,

it is enough
to break a heart,
or open one,

these many arrivals
and departures,
while Antares

blazes on, a light
that left for Earth
600 years back,

such a long time
and short
time ago.

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These Teachers

I meant to turn back
hours ago,
but the sage,
but the river,
but the evening sun
on my shoulders
and the path
that leads up
and up, the whoosh
of air as it parts
for the sparrow,
the scent
of juniper
arrives
and remains
in a constant
state of arrival,
the sole
of my shoe
leaves an imprint
in the dust, a heart
shaped rock,
and this quiet
prayer that one
does not lose
these earthly
teachers,
but rather,
becomes them.