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POEM: Brooklyn, 1 a.m.

Brooklyn, 1 a.m.

in half-lotus at the end of your bed
with the waxing moon
pouring through the window

without my glasses the world is fuzzy
like a poorly developed photo
that the photographer passes off as art

tonight we stood on the rooftop
Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn
embedded in the black above us

according to the Internet
a night like this happens
once every eight years or so

in my experience, there’s never
been a night quite like this one
whether half-lotus or fetal position

astrology is bullshit
but the planets are still reassuring
up there, judgment suspended

Published in My poems Poetry

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