Jupiter in March

There, that red spot, that’s where I am and who –
that one immense high pressure band
swirling above the calm blue curly-cue
sea. I’d rather be the sea, salty and

expansive, but I keep spinning around
myself, a counter rotating vortex
at odds with my core and all that surrounds
me. I am Jupiter’s great red spot, vexed,

irritated, a cosmic blemish, hives
a bruise, a zit, a corpuscle, blood
red molten mass of sunset and sunrise,
both in a hurry like a racing flood

of ruddy mud, undefined, I am that,
but I’d rather be the milky blue calm
of the Earth’s surf, surrendering to flat
shores, a slight white rush of foam, then a balm.

Ebb and flow, wax and wane, in and out,
I’d rather be that consistency,
moon tide, breath upon breath, yes, I’d rather be
one breath of the sea.