Canto CCXCIV

A bare few million years since the time
that hominin hands fashioned sharp cores
from foraged flint—the day has finally come

when Voyager 1 has dutifully explored
what length it could of our heliosphere,
She drifts beyond the pull of our small star

into the greater realm of nothing where
electrons flare up and snuff out again.
Her signal buzzes on for sixteen hours

before it returns to the human brain
via a field of patient, poised dishes.
The lag will lengthen as she travels on

provided that her hardware never crashes,
or navigates into a comet’s path—
until the fateful day the human race is

no longer couch surfing on planet Earth,
where all carbon based wetware’s been replaced
by programmes that keep working in good faith,

“..watched over by machines of loving grace.”

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Jul 06, 2012 @ 00:09:16

    She must be lonely out there in that great black cold void of nothingness.

    Reply

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