Space Debris - A Poetic Reflection on Our Fragile Space

Space Debris

The free floating glove 

was lost, not in music, nor

in anything you could get hold of, 

like the nose of a snore, 

or the back of a wardrobe, 

where there might be a slim chance

an adventurous microbe

might be found in its embrace.

The glove was truly lost. In the Space

of free floating aimlessness, 

a world without weight, 

a forever of existential nakedness. 

In the freedom of absolute nothing. 

Circling as a vulture on the wing. 

 A sonnet by Mary Courtney