Ronda Broatch
 
CONSIDERING A POSITION AS NEW PLANET
 
                                     I envy them
                         their silent lines
                   suggestive trajectories—
              such an elegant
           loneliness there
        in the heavenly murk.
     Who could help
    but answer the appeal
  let go a toe-
 hold and rise
through atmosphere
out to where
ascension becomes
  suspension and revolution. 
   What would happen
      once fuel runs low—
        Would we wither, shivering
            past banished Pluto
               or just go on skipping
                   in perfect ellipses
                        until we find ourselves
                                melting, a tender bread
                                        on the sun’s tongue?