. . . a homage to Wallace Stevens’ jar . . .
We placed a probe in outer space,
And bright it was, against the black.
It made the cold, chaotic vacuum
Surround its shell.
The solar wind licked at its bus,
And wrapped around, no longer slowed.
The probe was round with spider legs
And tall and of a single mind.
It took our questions everywhere.
The probe was lean and spare.
It did not yield to pull or push
Like nothing else in outer space.