Celestial lights, fusion powered stars,
that was all they wanted,
four dimensions, timely space in a matrix,
yet planetary nuisances appeared in each
galactic spiral, and random strikes
with over-budget meteors
didn’t really help.
Venus and Mars,
hide and seek,
catch and release,
Charon dreamt of riding on a comet,
of fiery petals flaming,
a switch from her elliptic circuit
closer to the sun.
~ / ~
On the Earth,
I wandered in a marsh
where polymorphs and tadpoles stretched their legs,
peered with unresolved poor vision
at tiny planes with far too many wings,
went to schools and libraries
and so on.
I never wondered who I was,
knew I wasn’t, slept in books
and sunshine, and all the
while the breath of mysteries
sighed upon my skin.
Then you appeared,
wrapped up inside a blizzard
with a popsicle, and time
in her DeLorean applied the brakes.
Moonlight shining slowly on repeat, dancing,
laughing, spinning round the frozen
but now time’s stopped,
waiting for the lights to change.
I’m sharpening a knife to cut the ends
off snow peas, you’re icing tiny cakes,
~ / ~
Formulaic scientists in movies
who write on odd transparent boards
explain themselves with icy clarity,
and perhaps I know a little more
about the Robertson Walker metric
than I do about apologies.
But that doesn’t mean
that I’m not sorry.
Charon is a satellite of Pluto, the Robertson Walker Metric isn’t.
artwork solar travel