Deep Breath

On the left, the satellite
Subject of too many poems,
Distraction from human crimes,

And on the right, some laughter
Under a great bank of clouds.
Dead ahead, a blinking plane

Against a backdrop of stars.
The body is breaking down,
Which means tonight is tonight—

Tomorrow no satellite,
No laughter, no cloud bank, no
Backdrop of faraway stars—

Either inside of a room
Or finally free of rooms.