Constellations

Litanies lift 
as lost gases

cold, spitted mist 
hovering 

above the rise
of fogged doubt

that thickens, 
and drifts--

before a breeze 
collects its flecks 

to amass my haze 
into something sound;

its weight squeezed 
to dense disk 

what later floats 
until it’s fixed 

into the black 
of forbearing space

where prayers 
constellate . . . 

re-membering 
themselves

into dapples 
of decreed light, 

luring my gaze 
to new orisons

of storied spark, 
tales lit 

from dimming dark.

​​
--
Lee Kiblinger is a Texas poet who loves to travel with her husband, laugh with three adulting children, play mahjong and enjoy words with Rabbit Room poets. Her work can be found in Ekstasis, The Windhover, Solum Journal, Heart of Flesh, Calla Press, Clayjar Review, The Way Back to Ourselves and others. You can read more of her poetry in her first collection, All the Untils (Wipf and Stock) or on her Substack at www.ripplesoflaughter.com.