Rings of Saturn

A cold night in September.
No moon.
We searched the heavens, you and I,
and found together
the rings of Saturn.

Other things weren’t so clear.
We turned our telescope
onto love and loss,
loathing and leaving,
focussed our sorrows,
tried on different lenses.

Mars was bright but milky,
and as for the nameless cloud
somewhere beyond Antares,
we’d have to consult the charts.

From too much peering into the black
our vision frosted over.
Your pain and fear,
remembered grief,
long slow orbits
of luminous and dark planets.

We packed up the telescope,
finished our muscat,
and felt a little closer,
went back to our separate universe.

Etched on my memory’s glass
the stately, unmoved
rings of Saturn.

(1988)