on an unremarkable planet
Contessa Isabela fluttered a manicured hand.
Divers divas and devices,
glorified in dullness.
I crave novelty.
We’ll send someone to Planet Sauria
whence no-one has returned.
We might get lucky this time.
And you there, skulking in the shadows,
don’t think that I can’t see you.
You’ll be the one,
don’t forget your camera.
My heart is pounding slivers,
my thoughts are ashen
photographs of thoughts,
my fingers tremble, key the launch.
the Saurian capital
I remember: a small discomfort on the journey
when my shuttle flamed and burned;
Isaura dressed in pastels who led me to
a skylight view above the Saurian glass,
and showed me how to work the dishwasher.
I remember: we were once inside,
her bolts of silk, her balsa craft
and my essentiality—
a discarded silver space suit,
blackened at the edges;
the ways that I pretended to be.
No biologics or metalogics,
we were sand grains blown along the shore
when the wind does not desire
their passage to the land or to the sea.
Our boundaries were Cartesian boxes,
through which we pass so easily now.
Isaura told me everyone has increments to light,
We’re flocks of rhyming leaves
lost in our own descriptions.
Look at you
with your inedited
energies and desires.
Soon we’ll spin invisible rivers,
involutes in linear dependence.
above the Saurian skyline
Solid is real,
by appearance and assumption.
The heavy always dream the light.
That was what I thought before I knew.
We dreamed them
—the solid Saurons—
their bricks and timber,
their concrete dens,
their playground puddles.
They were never real
and they call their planet ‘Earth.’
sauron dreams (detail above and below)