Notes from a distant planet

Janet Butler

When our suns burn a bronze sky
into a sooty dusk and night opens
longing fills me.

I search cold skies for signs
no longer there, for that distant
blue-green planet

I dream of. We’re told of pale blue skies
that danced around a single star, sun I think
they called it.

A softer place, green things that grew from
brown soil, compact, with the odor of life in it,
a moist earth

unlike our harsh planet, hardened by suns
that baked its many layers eons ago
before we came.

We survived because we had to, but a thread of memory
weaves our dreams, our paradise is not some distant heaven
but that garden that once was ours.

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