Venus Rising

She sat washing something in the creek
unknown to me dusk raised
with a filling moon
last days of the Evening Star.

She spoke not a word
her smile periodically
looked at me
I wept.

She waited for me to choose
to be on our way
unknown to us this dusk
'till November moves.

She really wasn't there
like in a flood the water gushing through
the hole in the tree near where I sat
Morning Star rises.

I wept for her there
because she washes the unknown
this project I project
a narrative of home.

Comfort
in plain sight
side by side
bound in our horizons
two as one
with no formal vindication
from outside forces
judgements
trust is a joke.

She washes
in water
from creek
I weep
in joy
at home.