Friday, 24 February 2017

space poem (edit 1)

In the silence, a voice – the unheard sound
a ship’s rockets create as they cry out
against the void. In the vacuum, a wind… fingers
trailing down the cosmic spine, drifts
from star to star, brushes across the point
where dreams become and thoughts,
minute eddies of  time, flow back and forth, pool
in the emptiness of comparisons – really
is any star better than the previous, greater
than the nova, less than the yellow sun’s
emergent experience of the uncompromising night?

And in this darkness consciousness travels through,
a line without intention voyaging to places so distant
by the time they are arrived at the reasons
no longer matter… like how a starman
can hold a child, a daughter, say, her tiny legs
kicking, and, with all the promises whispered
into the powerful scent of that newborn crown,
still be shocked when she leaves home…
as if the years were but short breaths
between the joys and errors of life, and the starman
finds himself in the spaceship, his face pressed
against the small porthole, watches
as his daughter, like a bright blue planet, fades
into the diminishing distance of existence.

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