how I would romance you on far Saturn,
inviting you to view night sky while I
sing of the rock giant’s sixty-two moons
in orbit above us as if some sly
invisible juggler had frozen her
myriad orbs in space, pretending they’re
the gods’ shining eyes gazing in laughter
down at us, blessing us, celestial care
leading us somehow to blaze. I’d create
stories of how tiger stripes on tiny
Enceladus fade, then form anew, fate
determined by the big cat’s green-fire eyes
staring from earth toward heaven. How Rhea’s
magic power can’t match yours, or my praise.
Roger Armbrust
January 5, 2012
