Planet Nine
Even Neptune is too close.
The noise the stars don’t make
wakes me in
the night. I turn to look
at who isn’t following, my spine prickling.
Could I love you?
Circling in the
fathomless, icy dark—
distant
eccentric perturber.
Look down. You’re the echo in the cave,
the
bottomless fissure in the rock.
Stalker, recluse, bully, black sheep,
jealous of even fist-sized spheres:
cloudy-blue blown-glass
paperweight,
bruised clementine,
softening in its dimpled skin.
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