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
anyway
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.