The laws of gravity don’t hold here –feet float

unless tethered – to a box, a table, a window frame.

I am stretched out, thinned by the space’s curve,

 

the loss of earth’s reliable time. Tick, tock,

there is nothing to be done, held

as we are in individual bodies, capsules

 

molded to our fragile skin, then sealed

as if ticking bombs, unpredictable,

easily detonated, then dispersed into darkness.

 

I read the remaining book, again and again,

seeking clues – anything that might explain

what we think we are supposed to be doing.

 

Come in, come in.

Roger. Over and out.

Is anyone listening outside myself?

 

Vowels and consonants –

unfamiliar sounds.