The Queen of the Hayden Planetarium
floats, admiring her domain.
She gestures:
see here!
Dewdrop galaxies, starbirth nebulae,
over there the dense dwarfs (hot diamond at
their core), the yellow and red giants, burgeoning supernovae.
The Queen of the Hayden Planetarium
sings, voice molten glass.
She resonates
in the same timbre as starsong; her voice
reverberating deep in the oscillating strings,
woven into leptons, photons, bosons--
The Queen of the Hayden Planetarium
listens, hears each murmur of the crowd.
The hip-slung babes pulling on earrings,
sunwearied tourists seeking refuge under plastic
stars,
and the parents dragged by chatterboxing children.
The Queen of the Hayden Planetarium
sees this last group and quiets them.
Places moons in their eyes and
hums:
"Yes,
linger here.
You're home."