In the Time of Venus
Like the jeweled hand of some vast clock,
she moves across the open arc of sky,
east to west in the ever shifting colors,
crossing the grain of stratocirrus clouds
as they move in unison on prevailing winds,
soft lines of cloud semi dark against
the fires of the vanilla and strawberry
sunset—sun passing beyond the horizon—
quiet now, beyond mute, silenced by the late hour.
There are no lights to accompany Venus
in this ocean of sky as the sun passes
into slumber and dream, the distances
like tides stretched out in time, a clock hand
arching, blushing where sky makes love to earth.