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.
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