Venus Still Burns

I go out to the sidewalk each day
early, before the stars have faded.
I go out looking for the morning star,
that cold lamp shining high over
black rooftops silhouetted by an indigo dawn.

I find it and call it by its name:
Venus, symbol in books of love's turmoil,
but soothing to the eye. Let me confess I'll
also call your name softly then,
as if you could hear me far off in
that room where you sleep, dream, turn....

I am not young now, but Venus still burns
brightly as ever for me in the morning sky, at the balance point
between the endless darkness and the endless light.