passing (for Julianna)

Fall passing to winter as planets align
creating old geometry with stars.
One night
Venus hung above
moon’s crescent sliver;
on the next below.
Moods changeable as positions of planets.
Moods predictable as patterns of stars.
I cling to autumn.

On your table
an altar
not calculated and precious
but set among deposit slips
breakfast things
notes and lists
domestic debris.
Polish crystal filled with beach stones
white and smooth
cool in our hands.
If released at midnight
into the night sky
eggs would be doves
seeking space
finding peace
as a new constellation.

Your church of San Antonio
rendered in a cool palette
as though those very beach stones
transmuted in changing light.
The walls
shadows
courtyard
arch
framing a red door
glowing
soul’s fire.

When I leave
I too
want a red door
to pass through.