SEVEN STARS
I am a set of seven stars.
my mother, hot, is the sun,
and my father, cool, is the moon.
for lovers I like the river’s silver smoke,
soft, ripe flowers,
all kinds of honey,
and water that glows in the dark.
to pray I roll a small seed between
finger and thumb, finger and thumb.
at the end we are oily with each other
and dizzy.
at dawn I climb the ladder to the roof,
scatter the pigeons,
and remove the clothes from the line.
breakfast is the name of the divine
chanted aloud one thousand times.
it tastes delicious with strong coffee and burnt toast.
at the end of the day,
when the ocean is black,
I take a bath in the close dark and wait for the first star.
when there are too many to count
I wring out my hair.
the path home is covered in roots and rocks
and my feet leave dark prints on the sand.
I am a set of seven stars.
I know the way back by heart.