It must be hard
floating in space—
immersed in the aether
with a concave reflection
presenting one’s face
all stretched out, contorted.

It must be harder
with no soundtrack to bathe in—
a lack of sine-waving synth beats
and slow-dancing ambience;
just swathe after swathe
of communications, distorted.

It most of all must be hardest
always covered in stardust—
simply swimming through
black soupy vacuumousness.
A wanderlust, flooding
with the godly force of Neptune.

It must not be that hard though,
having leapt on the moment;
divine, opportune—
to move in time with the universe
and aim for the moon.

© Joseph Chin