Poetics

landing in Ganymede

finally. the internal clock of your body
matches mine, we are able to eat together
again, here in the underground oceans
of space. it has cost us life to get here —
but we are used to living with the dead.
the landing was not as soft as we thought,
your legs being made of water, mine
non existent. waloyo yamoni. flags
will serve no purpose here.
we will build a small house, name it after
the dead. Oh my Ganymede, the altars I have made,
the lives I have lost, how far I have travelled,
how far I still have to wander, searching for the origin of time. matches mine matches mine.

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