Weaving Stars

She knew little of astrology yet she could translate the stars applying strange images as if she saw what no one else did. Together we would climb to the crest of a rocky ridge, there she would relate visions of crypto-beasts and numinous beings. She weaved together a living poem with her pinpoint insights, each one was a gateway to yet another starry night. I could not love her though, she belonged to that Great Nothing, and I needed something lesser to anchor my soul upon.