You thought Jupiter was a drone
spying as you bathed at dusk.
Its focused silver brilliance pours
nail-hard from an elemental forge.
Too distant to peer in our windows,
our neighbor’s little unlit drone
wobbles above the woods, battery
so weak it will probably crash.
Jupiter won’t crash. It requires
no batteries, no human urges,
nothing but its perch in the vacuum.
As your bath gargles down the drain
a cloud obscures the planet
and the drone falls into a treetop.
You won’t confuse the two again.
If I can prop a ladder maybe
I can rescue that plastic device.
If I can find a longer ladder
maybe I can hook and tear
that bluff and indifferent cloud
and restore Jupiter’s glory.
Although from here it’s so tiny
I could pin it to my lapel
to wear for the rest of my life.
