Spun so that
everything
has weight. Moved so
that everything
appears still. He talks
to make sense
of the senseless,
listens to silence,
tries not to be
cowed. In his suit,
built to fend off cold and
radiation,
he emerges - the cord,
so like that cord
in the moments when he
first emerged
that held him, fed
him, connected him back
through the many moments
to his first parents -
he drifts, watches stars
and emptiness compete,
the void a mouth, a
scream, a fist…
the stars, songs
desperate to be heard
before the ultimate silence
takes them
and makes them begin
the journey again.
He turns slowly, moving
as he is,
held as he is, suited
as he is,
and wonders…
If the cord broke and
he drifted,
how much time might he
be granted
and what would be the
worth of each breath
when even the stars
flicker into darkness?
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