…my heart is forever catching up

The stars drift further away, or so it seems to me
Venus turns her face to the darkness
a clever trick of the light, an orbital deception
an illusion, another word for the truths too painful to be revealed
when she turns back to black, I feel it deep in my bones
like love reversing its course or petals slowly closing
in the deep wounds of my heart
you return to me in dreams and I relive every word, every whisper
whether spoken or unspoken
I aimlessly drift through constellations
retracing our steps over and over, remembering the first betrayal
reflections are never the truth, our eyes meet in the mirror
still filled with questions we never, ever, asked aloud
Venus glows dim and distant, in her counterfeit motion
but like you, I see her for what she is
a goddess pretending to retreat
to remind us mortals, that desire never really ends
until love becomes memories
and memories become another form of orbiting
and Mercury is dancing backwards again
a messenger, a thief, and an illusionist
I remember things, I never lived, like the scent of rain that never fell
and there are truths I can only find when I retrace my own pathways
I find your voice, still tender and still refusing to fade
for love is retrograde, my heart is forever catching up
with the things I have already lost
my mind replaying, repeating
the same old memories, always slightly altered
you move through my dreams
unspooling the memories that I have locked away
re-delivering them to me, so I read the pages of the past
smudged with your inked intent
old recollections rising from ashes
old apologies resurrecting themselves
every mirror gives false reflections
and dreaming is just another word for haunting
and you have become the enabler of my resident ghosts
I wait for the next retrograde motion, the next celestial cycle
the next trembling in the heavens, knowing that when the sky turns
and the past loosens its grip on what can no longer be changed
you will rise again, epic in rewind and I will meet you there
in the vast empty space between illusions and memories
where we once almost existed
© Ann Bagnall