Stella Felix

To fall from a great height
at the turning of the year

To bear libations to the trees
and sacred mead

redolent of dentists

To dress in finery and dine
on equality and balance

and pomegranates

To write the story of reality
in grids of experience

and set it between cow’s horns
suggesting a crescent:

that’s Seshet

her vexed palette
six hieratic couplets

reflecting the expected
autumnal restlessness —

the brighter the light
the deeper the shadow —

the mitten of winter
in the rusted-up camper.