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Pluto
You are a cold filter –
a light without fire, two points in a cave.
I am the moon in you, and drift
in an ellipse of quiet things.
It’s not what we expected, but it’s beyond the grasp
of air worlds – green, blue, loose, feckless.
The dark pulls me to you,
But I will row out and touch outer rings of bright dust.
Recklessness
Looking out at night
as the yellow light wanes --
at a smile
and a car idling.
What return is like
a June beetle’s dark eye
and hooked finger,
lingering at the screened door.
Meg Smith's work has appeared before in Ascent Aspirations as well as The Cafe Review,
Dark Sky Magazine, Poetry Bay, Dark Eye Glances, Astropoetica, and others, as well as the Dwarf Stars
Anthology of the Science Fiction Poetry Association.
Email: Meg Smith
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