Tides of Venus

Having to play the friendly-reminder game.
You're fine. You're going to be fine. We are sitting in a chair, not tarrying near a cliff.
The full moon yawn, beacon in the South waking me up through your curtainless window. A car drove by and you raised the blanket to block my eyes.
Why this energy comes, I'll never exactly know. There are no tigers to fight. No cave to hunker in waiting for the storm to pass. The children are fed. You cross yourself in vain.
Yet it comes. Venus blazoned in the sky watching, Mercury to follow soon. Perhaps it's the scrutiny which makes my nerves pace.
Last night I set them all to bed, seeing who was awake gazing at the ceiling. A kind of Madeleine orphanage of parts. None stirred, but none slept. Pious. They knew there was nothing to be done. Nothing to make it better. Nothing to say or analyze or weigh or consider. They just had to lay down.
Why must it be this way?
Nothing to eat or drink. Just through. Nothing I can write or say, or that anyone can say to me at this point. My mind becomes feral and we must all be patient. We must all let it run it's cycles among the hills. Sow its oats.