nebula

You get a fix on the instruments, a place to hang 

the calculations, something to mingle with

motive and map, the slap down tabling 

the winning hand, the algorithm laying it on

thick to keep the machine busy, the star

at last found to further the reason

this sojourn continues sojourning along—

all these heroes minted to get sent stepping, 

the stories still warm around the fire

burning all these light years away, 

a destination for all those questions

left cluttering up the tables and rattling 

around the drawers. The kitchen

music, low voices and the clatter of 

limbs and dishes, all the missing

intimacies and unknown social occasions.

Listen, it makes sense to throw the stick so far,

the fetching made of generations, civilizations

spent in the time the keening is named and 

denied, pushing through the problem,

leaving the words to blind the eyes of

star struck posterity, the gazed on constellation 

turning destiny into destination, the empty stall

and broken tether found out,

history comes crashing down 

debris and exposition now

a fixed star halo, 

the dream folded over into pretty pictures 

adrift on the scent of the rain kissed earth.