Just before the moon crests the horizon,
Libra pokes her head above the curve,
Promising Mars and Saturn behind her,
Courters to her crown,
Casting of Jupiter,
Hanging lonely above in isolation.
Four hours a day,
Four states trekked,
Traffic seething blood
As I sit,
Some part of the serpent,
Its belly and the meal within it.
So much roadkill on the pavement,
Squirrels, rabbits, possum,
Even a hawk,
There is nothing that can escape,
No matter how fast or how high
It can fly.