We are not seen together during the day,
keeping our distance, as one must. We do
nothing we should not, at least since centuries back.
Such an alignment is best kept for the dark.
Once in a full blue moon we venture to do this.
Remember the last time we did so at Christmas?
Our star shone brightly, leading them the way.
A cold coming-together we had of it. We
knew our union was a sign of something.
We are the biggest in our universe, colliding
closer, a finger at arm’s length sufficing
to cover the negligible gap remaining.
Of course, we know some space remains between.
It does not matter. We are us. We are one.
Note: On the winter solstice in 2020, Jupiter and Saturn appeared closer together than they had done since 1226, looking like one giant star in the night sky. Such a ‘super-conjunction’ is thought by some to be the origins of the Christmas star that guided the Wise Men to Jesus in the Christian story. Although NASA said that holding your little finger up at arm’s length would cover the two planets in the sky, when viewed with the naked eye, in reality they remain millions of miles apart: their union is an illusion. I wanted to write a sort of modern-day metaphysical love poem, in the era of social distancing, about the two planets thinking themselves an item when in fact they are not; this is supposed to lend a poignancy to the hopeful-sounding final couplet.
This poem © Oliver Tearle 2021