Time to come in, Rog. Oxygen is at a quarter
fuzzy. The com tells me my daydream is at an end. (daydream?)
I finished repairs a decade ago. But the minutes…
the sacred minutes I get as my own spec of dust.
Harnessing galaxies in my eyes and catching novas
in the glass of my visor. I’d spend my life in orbit.
To witness the stars live and die and live again.