Oh, Mercury. Swinging back and forth, around and around with so much honesty, with so few fucks given for how we waterlogged humans get pulled in your wake.
You take the temperature of things, shifting shape, never settled as a solid, neither free as a liquid.
I am my own orbit, my own elliptical loop, making room for stardust, trailing old patterns all the way back to the big bang– you can see them if you blink fast against the dark.
The comfort and the miracle is this: in the midst of all this up-close-chaos there is a Center. A Sun. A Something which draws me back and back, no matter how many times I fling myself wide.
See how I’m gathering speed. Imagine the arc tomorrow will bring. Like a dancer, if you want to keep your balance, pick a place to look, name that God, name it Home, make it your One Fixed Point.
Backwards or forwards, retrograde or not, you’ll always know the answer to Where, if not Why.
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