The Tail of Retrograde
There are a finite amount of chances, make the most of them.
Frozen in space, an eternal slumber
of particulates and broken promises.
The wheel unending, turning turning turning
the cogs upon the rack of consciousness
until the golden moment when the gears
grind themselves to dust. Into a fine mist
coating the air in operative stillness.
Moments in the slipstream of the world,
burning within Halley’s tail.
Cast about the furthest reaches of the firmament
where light dare not stretch its grasp,
and silence laments in its own loneliness.
A cycle of distance and coincidence
culminating in a brighter glow from the heavens.
Spinning against the natural order
and the invisible forces governing over cosmic law.
A conjunction of axes, the ends of a spectrum
tumbling past in brilliant retrograde.
Caught in the dispute of Aristotle and Brahe
revolution of unceasing cyclical passes.
Twice in a lifetime, and then no more.
©Nicholas B Girard 2020
