On Mars there is a merry-go-round,
Carnival music cast into ether to scatter through the asteroid belt.

There are probably fireworks on Neptune
Set to the solar system’s intergalactic anthem.

Several stars away, a few light year blinks,
A thoughtful ear might hear a car crash, the dislocation of a shoulder.

Hubble, aging in ancient expanse, no doubt squints.
She struggles to focus, senile metal heaving in its last orbits.

What does the sound of the border between Space
And Earth feel like? The inside of a vacuum cleaner? A harp string vibration?

The belly of the Sun churns from the low gurgle
Of gas station sandwiches. This is why he is stationary.

We crave the experience of watching a supernova
And listening years later, anticipating rising crest and falling trough.

Eons in our future, we’ll hear the coo of the waking universe, muffled
From primordial placenta, slapped to breathing by the biggest question.