Orphaned Orb, there should be no more dreaming for you.
Those nebular installments with their spectral grasps
choke the ether of light, and when you wake
you are solemn and sobbing,
leaving the universe muggy
and a galaxy too dense
to escape your
trajectory was set:
you are a self-groomed
promulgator of solitude.
You could not predict how much
of your course would be eclipsed
by the inevitable constraint of the lodestar expiring.
And though this news has been far from now-now, you,
voluptuary of the cosmos, liberated long ago to eat incandescence
without dread, have, now, instead, taken to an earthbound bed like sludge
takes to the bottom of a harbor, except you have no harbor, having been freed
of gravity, nor obligated to share in any common core. Now, you are left, like a wet dog,
lost, whimpering at some back door as the rain beats down where there is no awning.
Helen Dano is author of the children's book The Little Makana (Bess Press, Honolulu). Her poems have been published in the online version of Sam Hamill's Poets Against War as well as in the e-zine one three eight, and the literary journals Poetry in Performance and Global City Review. A recipient of a 2007-2008 Bronx Council on the Arts Writer's Fellowship, she is pursuing an MFA in Poetry at City College.