The Universe Will Keep On Speaking
although we have stopped our ear,
reduced the spin of Mercury,
the Crab Pulsar’s periodicity,
messages bounced off the Moon,
to leaner budgets, bullet points
nearly as ethereal, ironically,
as the wonders Arecibo gave to us.
Our greatest dish is shattered.
Useless, I know, but I would stand
outside tonight, curve my small
skin concave to catch the sky.
Each of us needs the comfort brought
by one sensitive, attentive listener.
Editor’s note: The title and first line invite the reader into this poem as though it is a conversation that has just begun again—and perhaps even a small poem is nothing so much as an invitation to contemplate our place in the universe.