these fishermen of empty air
catch the passage of time in their patient nets
they wander out to the shores of the sky
and brood through of time and space
contemplating the edges of death
until a fresh catch beckons them from stillness
the earth won't stop,
plates incessantly moving
and planets are wanderers,
the sky tonight expanding,
contracting, so much energy
that I take comfort in sleep.
Travel is exhausting.
A planet is a round thing
that winds around a star.
Its orbit is a kind of invisible
string, as a string winds around
a yoyo. Maybe stars want displacement.
Maybe they believe as we do
When we take a trip that love and riches
are waiting somewhere to receive us.
–Elaine Terranova
