Dreaming Satellites

If it hurts too much to sleep,
It hurts too much. Otherwise,
Carry on without complaint,

And count yourself fortunate
In a world where people shoot
People or simply ignore

The unfortunate to death.
It’s a strange planet, this one,
No matter how many times

You observe that plaintive fact.
Life has found a way to blend
And perfectly commingle

The marvelous and awful.
Your ancestors adapted
By evolving an impulse

To sort experiences,
Naming and narrating them
Into their separate bins,

But here you are unsleeping
In refulgent evening light
Reaching you through pearled cloud banks

From the same source that tonight
Will expand the auroras
Of the greatest solar storm

In decades, creating risks
Of mistaken dreams among
Military satellites.