astrology

woke up: the sun is crying
the moon has left me
lambent tears run rivers
'round the eye-searing

puzzle pastels drift in&out
of place as the drunken spectrum
marches upwards (Phaetonic photons?)
but that's my problem, she says

always staring at the sky
as if cirrus tea leaves told
the story of our day—I'm
down here on solid ground

yet, the Muse has not spread
herself so thinly as to not
cover sky and that which
hides from the burning eye

in the back of the refrigerator
when the light goes off
the half-finished tub of hummus
is still whispering of you