Eighth day… seventh poem. It happens.
This one has been brewing for a while, but I still feel that it’s only a draft. At least the thoughts are manifest (and an unrelated thought or two in the draft):
Violet maiden moonlight
trickles earthbound through fine mist,
soft, eager voices coaxing night-watchers
from behind their stars
to beam and wonder
at their sway when one foot,
two, then three and six
and more are planted
on restless soil.
Cool earth gives way beneath bare skin
and ancient paces trace the wind and
tumble, like rivulets of sand
dancing down their dunes until
they collapse in heavy breath
upon the turf.
Seven sisters smile wide
and burn away the brume,
together peering into heaven
from mortal gates
until twilight catches their breath
and distills it
on silk webs and oaken fingertips.
While I’ve been trying to hash out those ideas since yesterday, the phrase “seven sisters” has been stuck in my head for many days now, but I hadn’t quite figured out why or from where. I’m only marginally familiar with the constellation and the mythology, but it must’ve come from somewhere.