Above us,
Joined
By imaginary lines,
Matter little to us—
They’re not where
We live out lives.
It may be romantic
To muse
On distant suns,
But I shiver
Knowing
I don’t belong.
I’m not made
For space:
Earth’s my place;
I can’t see a time
When I’d gladly recline
And lovingly gaze
Into obsidian eyes…
Or make my home
Under alien skies.