Lacking an Orbit

Her chipped, colorful mug,

a trinket?

Bauble?

Like something

of yours, but somehow off.
Not cosmos. Roses –

The flowers here are all wrong.
Her mug of shrub roses opens
the scar of your excision
and conjures you.

(us)

Together, our trajectories aligned.
We shared an astronomy book.
We gathered fistfuls of cosmos
and tracked Hale-Bopp.

Our scrapwork physics?
Some twenty years of deadspace, vacuum.
The comet will return;
it alone abides.

I think I let you keep the book.
We watched the cosmos wither.
The comet loomed, then left.

(there is no us)

April 2016

Back to the Bone Pile

Image courtesy of Lynn Greyling.
Image courtesy of Lynn Greyling.
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