here is the cold
heralding my bones.
shivering in the cranial
are the spine of many visions.

here is the announcement
of it in mid-step:

space is our station.
movement's tenure is endless -
a separate illusion
bleak like an unwanted behemoth,
gnawing the skin like
a raged lover would
in summery heat of body.

here is the miracle
of its pursuit:
mind extricates itself
from frame morphing solitarily,
squandering the mist
of this inward-breaking commune.
like a prisoner swallowed
by a garrison, lapping in recalcitrant afterthought,
eyeing for conflagrations.