whatever celestial revolutions

are exploding across the heavens


the hard ground of earth

catches the plunging wreckage


of ill-fated flight

or the rains that water the seeds


ever planted by those

sowing with one eye to the sky


the circle joins here

in our wind-wrapped huddle


a clasp to hold our boundaries

so we do not spill before our rightful times


our force under the spewing detritus of stars

falling to earth like gold...





Content (c) 2008-2013 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.