Gray shapes moved through blue fields,
and foothills faded to starry skies.
She’d traveled there and back again,
yearning through the kitchen window.
Beyond the lawn and chalky curb,
Over boxes full of tiny people,
To the edge of the horizon and back to here.

He was talking still somewhere.
Lips and teeth and tongue and clicks and clacks.
There was speech and sound but mostly noise,
And she wondered when it would all end,
and then it did.
And it was quiet,
But there was no calm.

A funny thing to be here,
Spinning round our star,
The sound of all things,
Humming in the deep.

We cling to time,
Adrift on black waters,
Waves of cosmic glow,
Rippling purple dust.

Old light guides our eyes,
A million fading suns,
Collapsing beneath their mass,
And we both wait,

For something more.

We spoke of when there was no moon to weigh us down,
And the sea was calm and the days were short,
And there was strawberry pie eaten with plastic forks.
And a sky of endless birds flew to a warmer oblivion.
I told you I would drive and you said it would be ok,
And the California highway was something I needed before the storm.
The hungry engine ate our words and every mile was a minute,
And you we were there and the planet was spinning away from the west.

Jagged teeth devoured a blue sky,
And green grass pulsed to a secret beat.
You were there with me,
Standing at the foot of our shadows.

I wanted to run towards our star,
Escape the level sidewalk.
An ancient orbit held me in place,
And I roared through the dark like a satellite.

I told her she was lovely as thunder rolled,
and rain drops patted young canvas roofs.
She cried and held me like a brother,
and I was happy to be needed.