Voyager I and the Blue Planet

I.
I wonder if you remember me.
You said, “Go out. Find me
that universe, and take these
with you.” Talismans.

Good luck charms like Mozart
and fifty-five ways to say hello.
Navajo night chant,
Peruvian wedding song,
diagrams of ribcages, gender,
bushmen and bones.
Gifts for a people you said
I may never meet.

It has been thirty-four years
and I wonder if you remember me.

II.
Less and less,
we call across the distance:
sixteen-point-twelve hours
between transmissions
and I wonder if you remember me.

I nearly kissed Jupiter for you,
nearly skimmed Saturn’s bright rings,
but you said, “Go out.
Find me that universe,”
so I sail out into the dark for you.

I keep a photo of you
to keep away the quiet
between your calls:
pale speck, long distant,
but I remember you.

III.
I know now,
you will never call me home.

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