Pluto

It stands that astrology could all be bull shit
But so could a lot of other concepts offered
in the universe of human understanding
or misunderstanding
Do you really know? Do you just believe?
These are two different things

Air and Space Smithsonian, Washington, D.C.,
sometime in 2008, and Pluto had been stripped of
Planetary status. I was sad. For no reason other than
“My very educated mother just sent us nine
Pizzas” wouldn’t be a thing anymore. I’m not
Sure what about this ninth rock being demoted

depressed me, but when we entered the hall of
Planets, the original installation next to Uranus
Had not been taken down yet. It was only
Inconsiderately draped with a huge swath of
Gray fabric. You could still see Pluto’s form
Lumped with, Charon, his major moon bulbing up

Under the gray canvas. I was sad.
I am woman of faith, despite my unknowing
And when my horoscope explains that
Pluto is finally leaving Capricorn after
fifteen years, it makes complete sense to
me, I’m not saying that the information is designed

For anyone else on planet Earth,
but, damn, if I don’t feel this revelation like fire
Like second chances, like all explanations that are
explainable and can and cannot be explained
Adios, Pluto. You were downgraded from
Planet status a long time ago.

Für Beethoven

I finally get it
I understand
How L. v. Bthvn
Knew the whole
Of life and love
Because he felt it
So poignantly
So achingly
So intimately
When he writes
Bagatelle No. 25
in A minor
(Für Elise)
You can
Literally sing
The notes to
The night music–
Frogs and crickets
Streams and rain
Stars and bats
Nocturnal rodents–
Keeping melody,
But poor Mozart
His night music is
All pomp, all praise
And glory
And that has
Never been what
Night is about
I suppose Mozart
Will never know

Dying

it was the time of dying
yet color still held,
sunflowers paused
grass, variegated green
rest was coming
the fall,
the browning leaves and roots
stems bore that truth
the mountain, dusty gray yesterday
was dressed in snow again today
pinking wreaths of clouds
and icy indigo striations
of oncoming dusk
some death is good
the power of it real
and raw, and magic
turning over seasons
the smell of fires, newly burning

Transformation

Truly time for a
transformation, the season
to greet the New Moon

at her best, she needs
time to shed the old skin and
celebrate the ruin

time to peel back old
eyes from the clay of stunted
vision, bright and clear

her future from the
death of many miracles,
the rivulet won’t

wait, it is time to
flow with strength and abandon
with knowing and grace

Scire (ski:re) to know. Latin.
for Starr

To know Time
is to begin to
understand the mortal
drum of the Universe

The thrum of blood
coursing through your veins,
narrative in your head,
bringing you closer
to Death,

but to know Life
is to know the
thousand Drums
cacuophonizing consciousness
Beating,

to know
to see
to love
to joy
to song
to peace

Yes, to tragedy
but, to know the
Infinite is to know
that a star is birthed
in an unfathomably
incandescent act of fusion

Bed of a nebula
beginning of Everything,
Creation– calamitous, cataclysmic
formidable, entropic
where one star died,
another reborn

In the End,
we’ll remember this
bead to celebrate
one life, it returns us
to our original scire–
to know– all love