Neither a Gypsy Nor a Marigold

aquarius: water-bearer,
an overflowing vase.
i am much less hourglass
than constellation. bits
of my hair washing
atlantic, pacific, clear
salt mediterranean.
the gold ring i dropped
in the grapevine & all
of those lost socks.
connecting dots.
look at this dirt,
these tangerine roots,
all something of
a cosmic exhale.
a small & then very
big accident.
so foolish, to think
we might keep all
of ourselves with
our feet, & stop
looking in mirrors
because the stars, too,
live everywhere but
with themselves. their
florescence, gone by the
time it arrives. their best
achievement: keeping
warm. but i am neither a
gypsy, nor a dusty marigold.
i am a supernova’s last
breath, once upon
a time.