They say
that bits
of rusty satellite
float
around
the sky
at night,
that up
there, just beyond
the
earth’s atmosphere,
hunks
of broken debris
drift
forlornly.
So I
look up and think:
what
else
might
be stuck there
longing
for warmth and love?
An alien’s
homesick
teddy, perhaps,
or an
astronaut cut loose
from
her spaceship.
Maybe there’s
a block
of
cosmic moon-cheese,
or the
spent match
that
lit the Big Bang.
If I
squint hard enough
I think
I can make out
Saturn’s
missing
wedding
ring
and a
lost
love
letter
from
Neptune
to
Pluto
just
beyond
the
earth’s atmosphere
up
there
drifting.
