THE TRANSIT OF VENUS

One black calf came, curious, to the fence, the rest grazed slowly through the field. People drove by. Nobody stopped.

The clouds in the west parted just in time. We fitted binoculars with heavy filters and there she was. Our size.

Turning with us around that close yellow star. Dark against that star. For months she’d been yellow against the darkening sky.

We won’t live to see this again. And will anyone ever see us like this– one black spot, turning through the sky, just above the clouds closing in.