I know they look like sunrises and sunsets, but I was painting you.
When I painted all the rivers that lead to the oceans, and the glorious starry nights, and the flowers; the sublime orchids and the tender roses.
In the end
and from the beginning,
I was painting you.

Her constellations move differently

She no longer controls star systems

Only one remaining cluster
now orbits her

But it is more than enough

For they need and love her as their light-giving empyrean

Between these two points
it usually comes down

to where I've been in my life
when I've arrived

mostly in late August
a hazy day

on a trip
and last hurrah

staring at the bend
in the highway

as crooked as
a drinker's elbow

Whit Howland © 2020