The Silent Orbit

Dust gathers on the rings of Saturn, a quiet drift of ice and older stone that speaks without a voice across the dark.

We chart the slow ellipses from our chairs, tracing the arc of bodies bound by mass, while knowing we are tethered to the same.

The fragile threads of light are spun too thin to bridge the gulf between the spinning worlds, and so we watch the silent orbit close.

In cold geometry we find our peace, a measured distance we can never cross, suspended in the vacuum of the years.