Well versed in the expanses
that stretch from earth to stars,
we get lost in the space
from earth up to our skull.
Intergalactic reaches
divide sorrow from tears.
En route from false to true
you wither and grow dull.
We are amused by jets,
those crevices of silence
wedged between flight and sound:
“World record!” the world cheers.
But we’ve seen faster takeoffs:
their long-belated echo
still wrenches us from sleep
after so many years.
Outside, a storm of voices:
“We’re innocent,” they cry.
We rush to open windows,
lean out to catch their call.
But then the voices break off.
We watch the falling stars
just as after a salvo
plaster drops from the wall.