by Alan S. Garrett
My mind is tossed from the ground into the bridge of a starship.
Music from some far off galaxy fills my head;
Music recorded in a place as distant to me now as the place I find myself in was then.
It sounds slow, dragging, but speaks of survival still.
In this moment, however, the sounds I chase are all over the place,
And arrive so quickly that I record nothing.
It is difficult to find direction, it’s been lost so often.
But here I am, stabilized,
But for how long:
Hours, days, weeks?
No, never weeks, rarely more than day.
Best to never believe in the impossible,
Even aboard the bridge of a starship.