AFoxesPalette

6 of Cups

    Two trees—yours and mine—
    roots drinking the same dark water,
    branches writing different weather.
    I’m Aquarius, you’re Pisces:
    thrive meets change,
    silk threads crossing midair.

    I was cocoon-still, a rose plucked early.
    Pain did the work no comfort could—
    split the mold, let the wings think.

    Nights webbed me with dreams—
    not spiders, just sheets
    holding me fast while the body
    practiced escape.

    Life path nine beside your five:
    two tempos for the same song.
    Saturn teaching winter’s lessons,
    Mercury juggling twins—
    charts in the margins—mutable notes we kept sounding out.

    We paused at 59:59—almost—
    and still counted it.
    The Six of Cups, twice,
    surfacing from the deck upright,
    like memory with both hands out.
    A Knight of Swords upright flashed in the dark,
    the grass hissed a snake,
    hearts came up Scorpio—
    glass broke where a bird insisted on sky.

    People hurry the harvest,
    impatience names itself fate.
    We fell out of sync,
    hesitated at open gates,
    missed easy turns.

    But here’s the small, exact truth:
    we both stood tall like ancient trees—
    roots deep, branches brave—
    and when the cards finally quieted,
    you took that long to listen,
    I took that long to hear,
    and what returned was ours to keep.