Galaxy

My galaxy reformed beyond just the sky.

To how often upon something you lay your eyes

and with how much warmth or with deep despise.

Who is your Moon? That you sing to each night?

Who is your Sun? Whom coats all in light?

For a moment I thought- I felt -maybe you might

grab my hands and swing me in circular flight.

Are your stars the walks you wish to take on your own?

Is your orbit the six blocks that circle your home?

No. Wider and faster your path, now I see.

Which is how I don't know how there is no space for me.

For your Moon and your Sun, I can only guess who

but your Pluto cast out into deep inky blue...

Simply exiled one day without even a word.

No longer acknowledged.

No longer heard.

Yes your Pluto there is no question of

who is she.

For you are the Sun

and meek Pluto is me.

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(Alt. last lines for my own memory: If you are the Sun, then meek Pluto is me)