An inch a year or more, and it pushes toward some new patron –
or sister folk among the asteroids.
The oceans softly shudder.
The soil moves in a sigh, lonely tendrils rolling out.
What will any of us do without its silver, its sure arc?
No means to trace the track of the rabbit in the snow.
Year by year, the werewolf looks to equilibrium.
I look to you and the light blurs in our bodies,
through the gauze of snow clouds.
Meg Smith is a poet and journalist based in Lowell, Mass., her work has appeared or will appear in the 2010 and 2007 "Dwarf Stars" anthology by the Science Fiction Poetry Association, and in "Astropoetica," "Black Petals," "Dark Sky Magazine," "The Cafe Review," "Dreams And Nightmares," and others.
She can be found here: http://www.poet-in-motion.net/
Mari Mitchell lives in the high deserts of California. She has been married for over ten years, has two sons, two pet rats (who are actively plotting to take over the nearby space port,) and one very round, very loved cat (who is passively-aggressively taking over the couch and computer.)