seraphs in the sky,
they come chanting,
a thousand wings beating,
drinking from storms.
the window in the kitchen
flew open, bringing snow
and their shadows,
aligned with their forms.
mars and mercury may think
about this day,
and never tell their secret
to the moon.
the thought bruised my head
purple as the nebulae,
or summer's last sunset.
she twirls around the room,
turning with the earth
on its axis,
as i toss in bed.
enchanted, she reaches
for a hand of mine,
i give her one of venus.
now it is just i,
and dew drops,
beads on a web.
i do not dare disturb,
stir a puddle, or step
in any of the water
so this woman, mysterious,
may drink again.