Hubble


by Kelly Edgeington

We’re lassoing it back in, darning

holes needlessly and meddling,

a finger dipped in every concave.

A leaving that isn’t about freedom:

big balloon – slipped grip – this quiet squint up.

Some officials remain optimistic.

Some scientists cried at work.

They described it as allowing a slow death, –
we’re just gonna let this one go, folks –

There is an always moving.

We can watch it, kindly.

The come-back kid.
Come back, kid.