Sublime

The way of Aurouran winds

Pushing laden clouds like

Destiny was braided with 

dandelions into your curls

But really it's just a Monday

And you had your coffee

And you've got shit to do

Before a yawn, and the end 

of this short Winter day.

Thoughts on a dead astronomer...

Did her fever-ravaged middle years

Prevent her from a doting husband

And a sticky child

Or did she love like me,

Only quietly, hidden, 

a seed buried In a grape,

Her map hidden by daylight.

I am impressed with her name

And her ability to read the 

Naked face of stars.