After “the eclipse” by Craig Kucia
A snake made
of constellations coils
around a dark hole.
This witness to a dying
star gives a gentle kiss.
Knows the end
approaches. The star
accepts that it will
not last until dawn.
Sadness dwells
within the snake.
She unfurls and
sheds a galaxy.
You should sleep
under the half moon
and soft shadows.
Instead, you mumble
and head out the door
for your afternoon
walk thinking
it’s 3 pm. You wear
a loose, white cotton
dress with a matching
headscarf. Lupine
would bend in harsh
desert winds and foraging
bees would swarm.
Five planets try to align.
There’s robust water
on Saturn’s moon.
Cindy Rinne creates fiber art, zines, and poetry in San Bernardino, CA. Cindy is the author of several books: 'Dancing Through the Fire Door '(Nauset Press), 'Today on Two Planets' (Written by Veterans), 'The Feather Ladder' (Picture Show Press), and more. She's also a Pushcart Award nominee. Her poetry has appeared in: The Closed Eye Open, Unleash Lit, Verse-Virtual, Mythos Magazine, swifts & slows, Lothlorien, and others.
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