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  • Voyager and I set forth in ‘77
    A year of ups and downs:
    George Willig climbed the South Tower.
    The National Razor shaved its last head.
    Stars Wars premiered and Elvis checked out.
    Jimmy Carter warned about our oil Jones.
    The neutron bomb was born, smallpox died.

    She had a date with Jupiter,
    sights set beyond a purely planetary round-about,
    she looked to use his stature to catapult her beyond.
    Me? I was locked in an Ivy League orbit
    until the keys to perception
    cracked a door out of the land of no-doz,
    led me past and gone,
    beyond the well-worn Bean boot trails.
    Momentum’s sling: Gravity’s a bitch without it.

    Maybe I saw her
    A momentary brightness out the dorm window,
    a twinkle on the brews set out to chill.
    Dude, said Umbo, you hear? They launched a probe to Uranus.
    And took another toke.

    She’s gone now,
    broke through the helio pause
    crossed the line in the cosmic sand.
    No pause.
    No backward glance.
    Just on
    forever through the galax-sea.
    Next port of call, forty thousand years.

    I’m still looking through windows
    trying doors
    dragging along my rickety, duct-taped stool
    stretching, tippy toe,
    feeling for the light

    Voyager and I set forth
    a lifetime,
    a moment,
    a blink ago,
    between us, we’ve ventured our share of space.
    She’s far and yet not past the echoes,
    ripples of anguish, bitterness, and rage,
    among them joy, I hope.

    I wonder:
    If emotions have wavelengths
    and, if so, which ones carry?
    Which ones fall away?
    Which ones could she read,
    if that had been our bent.
    What song will they hear
    that turn their ears our way?
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