Cosmic Courtship

Warmth flows in,
Bringing life and death and a seamless scene,
Deep into the ox-shaped planes of plains.
The whispering promise of une petit(e) ami(e),
Diluted by the ears that grab it to listen.
The old woman turns bitter,
Painting trees with chrome frost,
Freezing children’s tears in time,
Withered fingers clasping at your ankles.
Night ends in divorce,
Father returns us to our proper state.
He shines his light into our eyes and mind,
Pushes his egocentric flares onto the skin of the earth,
Shouts through the empty nothingness to anyone long gone.
Then, the churning stills.
The clocks that hang on the walls of space-time click to a stop.
Perfect Newtonian balance:
His theocracy against her kingdom.
A thin band of incipient bliss manages to catch those lucky enough to have both passports,
The Holy Land.
With a click,
The clocks place us back in the correct frame,
And morning brings marriage once more.

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