Foreign Object

My soul is ancient metal, containing all the secrets of the universe, if it would only speak.

I orbit another; longing for my own gravitational pull, rate of rotation, my own elliptical relationship with the sun.

I am a verdant streak in the summer sky, a slash in the atmosphere of a larger body.

I wait at the edge of obscurity, while those who understand little about me decide if I am worth naming.

The truth is, I will never be known.
The truth is, I have always been known.

We are linked in ways beyond all knowing.