Three Images for Saturn
Saturn has always been a ringed planet. Crop circles, it's told
are boldly suggestive of a talent for vanity—single-celled amoeba
act as yet another indivisible signature dish, indistinguishable
from nebulae, or black holes, or the magnitude of a dog star in
open comparison. His rings, once believed to be the ash of life,
merely courtesans at the theatre of gastronomic dinner-circus.
Saturn's rings casts shadows over him as if they were clouds.
Frogs and storms have no place to bed for long.
Saturn throws a violent temper, he rages from his birthplace:
In the middle of his first kiss, the poet tastes electricity.
A comet punches holes in the clouds as it breaks apart over
A nearby lake, scattering liquid gold over silver light.
A new ring was formed that night from available elements.
©2014 J. Patrick Bennett