Say father and it says
first horse.
Say my love
and it says the wild.
These planets are all
my planets, their tongues
my lost and speeding insect songs.
Come on, Scotty,
everybody dies in the stirred-up gel
of somebody’s transporter.
Haven’t you ever beamed back
divided? And what’s this backward
language now? It says
my baby’s gone missing
when all that blew up
was a world.