Libra taught me how.

Standing in the far west on the coast you never visited
while asking advice of Castor and turning my head from Pollux,
I fell into the water.
And although you were busy with the seasonal nonsense
of orbiting a hardly-deserving star whose eyes were too dull,
I found your magnitude apparent.

As I gasped for air and pushed my way to the surface, you shone,
fighting over Sirius and glowing golden in his reflection; I gazed.
Libra taught me how.
She opened my eyes wide and brought clarity to the water,
allowing me to hold my breath for just a little longer
and watch you circle the earth.

I only ever wanted to make you binary - to keep you closer -
instead of losing you each equinox when Lyra became mute.
Covered in lake and in cold,
I climbed up the pier and sat at its edge,
trying to map, trace, and trap your shadow as Castor scolded me.
"You always needlessly fall."