When I woke up this morning I was still on Pluto
— How silly to worry about the poles
Or the grays or how Paris will burn today
When the fjords are this blue, the coastline this familiar,
The dunes that spectacular, dusted as they are
With new nitrogen snow, and when cities gleam like crystals,
High rises peeking squarely through the cliffs
To overlook the mighty rivers, the sculpted methane tors,
The farms so neat and orderly, that stretch it seems to infinity,
And the clouds, the clouds, no words can describe
The way that they appear for the first time ...
But too soon the decor changed, to pepper trees and green,
And people wandering aimless under clouds of coal tar ash
In less-than-hospitable carbon monoxide'd air —
When will they be told how life exists beyond all forms,
How people live, 30 scant degrees from absolute zero,
Lives just like theirs, just as unbelievable?
