After a long sleep
I named the black glaciers,
stretched my stride onward
toward Ursa Minor,
seeking the sylph who woke me.
I remembered the blood dust
of Martian canyons,
the thick folds of nitrogen
in the eidolon shades of Titan,
where I trekked in dreamscapes,
swelling as Ganymede through approach.
The sylph smiled once before
vanishing into her bed,
where she lay Nymphaea lotus petals
for her skin, for her lover,
before becoming wind.
And I woke from this dream
no closer to the stars,
but moving once again.
(Originally published in Sand Hills, Vol. 46, Sept 2022.)
