In the vast swaths of space I float by the rims, the hours burn upon me in solitary bliss, an authentic exclusiveness haunts my servitude, as I compromise my last return, Can i penetrate the moon, or can i hold Pleiades, in the memoirs of time i no longer keep, the unwritten episodes, stare in blank recognition while the pages turn, In the vast swaths of space I float by the rims, uncaring of my pace, to gladden the times, the hours burn. Stationary between orbit and ache, this blissful stagnation stills the time, Can i repay the mind, with enough compensation, to read the endings that ever swells, The stars don’t blink; they just wait, while I, a debtor of moments, sign my name in vanishing trails. So I tire to chase the comet’s brief script, let it scorch past unrecorded, In cryo-sleep, i dream of december sky, in a language half remembered— The void hums a lullaby, rapt in sea foam, where the staggering distances of my spaces die, In the vast swaths of space I float by the rims, uncaring of my pace, to gladden the times, the hours die Maybe the moon is not a place but a pause, on infinite postponement where my own footsteps echo in the walls, Maybe the gaps between Saturn and Neptune are handful of moments I refused to let fall, Time folds like old maps, creased at the edges I touched most, leading nowhere else I can land, but to the stir of my calls, perhaps the last return had never been bookmarked, in a book that writes itself as I read, but the enduring courage to keep turning pages to an ending that was never meant to reach, In the vast swaths of space I float by the rims, uncaring of my pace, to gladden the times, the hours teach...
