Whizzing paper ships that cross
eddies of the empty to that place
where planet 9 sweeps round the dot
above the i. That distant sun we
feel its warmth but planet 9
if perturbations mean it’s there
does not
A plan to come to us
by particle or wave no less
fantastic than some grand oblate
dark quiet cold and passing
above beneath unknown except
a bobble here
a wobble
where planet 9 weirds on, a
fiction till the day it turns up
on the doorstep so to speak
a satellite squeak, a bump
four pixels wide, a creature
shuddering through
the night
Relic of the grand creation
of the willing into being
of what is not and yet
what we must believe to be
is a consulting editor, writer, photographer, and amateur astronomer. She lives near and works in Boston and has an MA degree from the University of Massachusetts. She has upcoming or published poetry in the South Florida Poetry Journal, Viewless Wings, and Please See Me.
