Orbits

The bullet is a comet,
speeding towards the sphere,
cold, swift, silent.

It cannot shift an orbit alone,
a swarm of these hailstones
might budge a planet a mile,
might cleave a scar in its face;

No, an orbit can only be shifted with words/
Distant globes speak to me, they tell me
My earth is no axle or fulcrum.

My hope is, the moment before
the comet impacts the back of my world,
I can still hear those words,
and can whisper in harmony:
"It moves."*

* "But still it moves" - Gallileo, 1633.