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 change

a new beat

a blazing chance

the one lasting lastly kiss, forever to Titan’s Bloom

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