The Last Day of June

by Kerry Trautman


We met twenty-two
years ago this week. Tonight’s moon

is full and nicotine-stained.
They say

tonight Venus and Jupiter
are nearer to each other

than at any other blip
in their twenty-four year orbits—

dual bleach blots in denim western
sky. It occurred

to you to
lower the shade midway through

sex, though no one could see in
our high window. And

it was too late

if some backyard astronomer
telescoping Venus and Jupiter

or golden moon lakes might
have magnified

at fifty-times-power twinned planetary
bodies—their gravities

impelling them near and away and near
and away and near.

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