To Bite the Sun

Earth:
Equitorial red,
pinch pleat arms of liquid alloy
whip around electric currents,
unfurl a curtain of crinkled colorless waves,
shrieking lashes of Venus' belt against the sunlight.

The cascade of the curtain is steeped in green and violet
faces of spectres and sky dogs.
The rod — a daffodil of hard iron-nickel.

With scant pleats spun off the rod,
the moon's dust
succumbs to the empty.
The sun picks and shades around
the shreds of a veil —
in regolith's scattered charge,
peels off the blocks of illusions.