You advise me to soldier on, stoic
facing calamity, be heroic
in this nine-month gestation between stars
uranus retrograde, venus and mars
until the shifting skies will galvanize
me into right action, confident, wise.
But restless as impulsive scripts play out
–a heron scolds my porch light here, casts doubt
and so I puzzle in starlit predawn
swallow my pride, resist patterns I’m drawn
to repeat. Old wounds have broken wide–death’s
gift. I calm and ground, thankful for each breath.
Featured images: a glorious dawn and the heron who flew over, scolding me as I photographed.