That’s Venus, east, below left of the moon,

and although not visible now,

I have no doubt

Mars is somewhere around there too.

It won’t be possible to keep

this up once cold comes,

so I’ll rise early from sleep

every day till summer is done

with this journal and fountain pen,

first-light crickets rejoicing. Then,

gracious Aurora, a mere hour

from now, I must be joining

the ignominious masses trudging

to work with all the clouds that lour

over their heads called “mortgage”,

“family”, “societal demands”

from which they desire suffrage

completely out of their hands.

Parting truly is such sweet sorrow.

I’ve got a proposition for you, Apollo:

If you agree to stay where you are

there rising over the river

and allow me longer with her,

feel free to park your fiery car

forever at apogee

and scorch this Earth to cinders.

I want this to be

the moment that lingers

in a litany of forgotten dawns,

even if it means the end of all this carrying on.