Last night, I found myself staring at the sky.

The black seething well of darkness

gave me the chills.
Nay midnight blue, navy, nor grey,

even of the darkest shade,
But a blanket of pure black,

was the evening above.
It was a new moon,

setting the night with a peculiarly plain backdrop.
The abyss was viciously lonely,

and not a single constellation graced the empty heavens.
Perhaps they were drowned out and dimmed

by the bright pulsing of passing headlights.
Perhaps they were occluded

by the thick, dense veil of fog.

But by any matter, the night was silenced:

no fables or folktales glittered.
Deaf, mute, blind,

the air hung heavy.
Paralyzed by Zephyr's absence,

the trees were still and the leaves were quiet.
But hanging low on the horizon,

was a magnetic twinkle.
You know that mystery light?

The one that has domineered the night skies of late?

That orphan sun, I think it's Jupiter.

Jupiter to the Romans: god of all gods.
Phaethon to the Greeks:

blazing hand of heat and lightening.
Marduk to the Babylonians:

avatar of water and magic.
Guru to the Hindu:

patron of knowledge and truth.
Jovian to the Medieval men:

a mood of bliss and pleasure.

Last night, Jupiter captured me like honey,

with its contagious, jovial glow.
My autumn eyes stuck to that sweet winter light

'the sole twinkle light left two months after Christmas'
And I didn't want to look away.

For this light, it made me see.
Lest the sorrows might have beauty,

lest the beauty might have depth.
Oh, let the depth strike my heart's chords.

D major'it resonates.
Last night, I found a smile

creeping across my chlorine-dried skin
As I realized:


You are my Jupiter.