A poem from 2018.
**
You are my Tiangong-One,
a lost ship of science, adrift in radio silence,
beyond the reach of any mission control,
an old piece of space junk with a mind of its own,
dancing the last celestial waltz,
and I dread the approaching zero hours,
when you’ll be spat out like a plum stone
from the greedy atmosphere,
a weary prodigal in guise of a comet,
crashing to earth.
**
lise colas 