

Song after song, it’s become obvious
the sun is not the lone alto
astronomers once believed
but a chorus of atoms
breaking
into lullabies.
Out there our planets
have been lulled and are falling fast
asleep. Even our most confident
astronauts aren’t certain of what to expect
should Earth fail to open
its eyes in time to catch them
at splashdown.
But Jen, little has changed on Earth
for us. You still keep to your own
orbit at the end of the hall, sending
your wishes
to disinterested stars. Should you find
in your slumber that you’re among those
celestial bodies, sleepwalking—
that suddenly you’re Jenny-in-Space,
wombed with a child so round
its orbit startles you from sleep—
call me. I’ll transmit to you
the sweetest lullaby
the Earth has never heard.