The angle seemed askew,an enigmatic grin hangingat the end of the highway,a last orange gasp.
Beethoven on the radio,his silence tangiblebetween the sounds.
We pull a history in unmatched wordsfrom two hemispheresover empty space.
I rememberat least one ancient cellin the body comes from stardust.
We follow the black syntaxof the moon's thoughtsout to drifting stars.
A universe expanding into nothing,we are the space we travel to.
