“First, we feel it stirring within us, a sweet unrest; then back come the recollections one by one, like homing pigeons. They flutter through our dreams at night… Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
Voyager and I set forth in ‘77,
A year of ups and downs:
George Willig climbed the South Tower.
The National Razor shaved its last head.
Stars Wars premiered and Elvis checked out.
Jimmy Carter warned about our oil Jones.
The neutron bomb was born, smallpox died.
She had a date with Jupiter,
sights set beyond a purely planetary round-about,
she looked to use his stature to catapult her beyond.
Me? I was locked in an Ivy League orbit
until the keys to perception
cracked a door out of the land of no-doz,
slung me past and gone
the well-worn Bean boot trails.
Maybe I saw her
A momentary brightness out the dorm window,
a twinkle on the brews set out to chill.
“Dude,” said Umbo, “You hear? They launched a probe to Uranus.”
And took another toke.
She’s gone now,
broke through the helio pause,
crossed the line in the cosmic sand.
No backward glance.
forever through the galax-sea.
Next port of call, forty thousand years.
I’m still stretching, tippy toe,
looking through windows,
feeling for the light.
Voyager and I set forth
a moment ago,
between us, we’ve ventured our share of space.
She’s far and yet not past our echoed shout out.
Ripples of anguish, bitterness, and rage.
Some exhalations of joy and hope.
Do emotions, like light, have amplitude and period?
Ancient mariners read the rippled lines of waves,
knew by the patterns distant shores.
Among the pulses of gravity and light,
our words radiate.
Weaving refrain and melody.
And what song will they hear,
that turn their ears our way?