Percival Lowell was not the first man to see himself
in Venus, to see his own shadows on her form, for
what is love but
a mirror? Yet to see
oneself so closely
in the atmosphere, the planets as familiar
as the orb you see them from, this is as the mineral-
wrought tears of the old stone.
Condensation pearls over porcelain, plaster leaks–
Something isn’t right.
Lowell swore to his own testimony; you see, he’d seen it with
his own eyes. Everything before us
looks like life. The figures we make
cry because we make them.
The sky is watching us like an eye.
Spokes of Venus
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