Gas giants ghost through the universe
of my son’s reflector telescope.
In its dime-sized mirror, he watches
their state of being go from gas
to liquid to something
solid as the muskrat
the owl comes up from the marsh with,
is its natural reaction
to pain, its body’s knowledge
that it will die in this bird’s gullet,
going from solid to liquid
to gas again, every ounce
of its corpse unstable.
while my son watches
celestial bodies of methane morph in orbit,
saucery blue as his own night eyes
and bright as their blind surrender.