After bath time

Crashing to shore
I hold you up to hear the sound of the spheres
Those eight stringed satellites spin
Your grasp cannot contain their circumference
They delight you now but
Space the place with room enough
To hide all significance

Even still – here I can hear you
Standing still at nine hundred miles per hour
same scattered ice and dust
same fire that lights the stars
Equally important bodies in God’s
Ever-expanding Universe

Son
I am spun into orbit
An icy comet careening into farther stretches of colder space
Caught and swung snap into place

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