Hecate

Hecate

Europa in Satin, or Titan’s Gas Hatcheries

All for the birth, and the warm hatchlings sang: Shout, Shake, Shine
Our lives are coming home to Titan; the gassy propylene contentment
is life’s easement on property lines; singing a frothing la la tat la tea la
There’s heat in the moon, if viewed through the right lens, la tea tare la
Our first true space travelers will be lei plastic container manufacturers
pushing the lines of assembly out, up, oh la la ti to hues of orange fade

On Europa, past, a haberdasher bleeds remorse for fine satin fabric decay
Its warp threads, never caught and looped by mirror planets of the weft
so the weave falls apart, becoming the darkest black spot la ti gleaming
in a hatchling’s eye; come full stop, infrared, bring out green’s gritty desire
showing its truest all-color back to us in the hydrocarbon haze

And
floral winter cream’s lace, which cloaks the creatures of other Worlds
for all hatchlings know, they Live, in the waters
speaking in nature’s groove, ridge, groove, oh la la tat la tea la

Talk, ultraviolet, of the hive in disarray; telling us new riddles to say
Are those bundles of gas queer hatcheries for Titan’s teaming natives

Or…
do we wrap the unknown in hopeful satin and creamy lace for a chance
a new beat
a blazing change
sending our one lasting lastly kiss, forever, to Titan’s Bloom?

K. Shawn Edgar | Poet | Skateboarder | Mad Assassin

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