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Has my name. My cratered body, pock-marked
in an oblong orbit. The photograph circulating from the James E. Webb
is meant to show Neptune’s rings but there among other moons
named for water deities, she drifts
in the faint and dusty rings. Neptune was discovered because of stellar occultation,
some bright star was obscured by her shadow,
and so they knew she was there. A moon’s moon is a moonmoon, a moonlet, so small
they also call them disturbances, space debris, probable,
among the objects that form the rings, their resonance
keeps them a flight together. I am just like her, a crumb in a crowd, strange
surrounded by full, bursting moons—
Galatea, Hippocamp,
satellites they don’t say will collide or break apart
vanish in some burst of light |
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