A Boeing occults Betelgeuse,
red left and running,
and an arrow loosed
finds not its mark.
And in the green flickers,
banked to a bull,
some pink ears pop
and the belts stay locked.
They’re always leaving,
they in the vapors,
they in the tubes,
they strung between
futures and blues,
plugged up in departures
and thus suspended,
held there in grace –
such grace –
As Mercury crests the horizon –
brief, so brief –
and soon – too soon the swallows.
Image: Matt Nelson on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 