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.