Stranded cosmonaut, dazed survivor, apparatchik
In the space dust, in the incandescence,
and the red rock
of a distant world.

The gods are not here. There’s radio silence. So
We invent anew. Let the mind find
what it would worship. Or a day
without prayers, and push through the heavy air
of that unresponsive freedom.

They won’t answer if you call them. But there’s something in it
Talking, not to ourselves only,
because we are never alone. Our heads are full of voices and
our heads are full of ears.
You can find them, huddled
to be born.

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