Imagine a vehicle of dream and paradox,
where light is a force,
void is an entirety.
Imagine the improbability
of that. How worlds
could extend that far.
You will travel a long time.
Track the closest body
to your window, watch it
enlarge to swallow its own
aura in a wild throat as it
slips past. You’re small,
an afterthought. Still anchored
to gravity, you heed warning lights
that flutter instruments,
gauges that quantify the indistinct.
But you’re already reaching
for the door.
There’s an ache in your bones
for the dark outside your tiny home,
where Nyx unclothes.
You’re almost
already gone.
And when you touch down,
bringing with you
the language and memory
of the thing you hope to be,
that first moment
in the wild enormity
will name you
for what you are.
Carolyn Adams’ poetry and art have appeared in Steam Ticket, Cimarron Review, Evening Street Review, Dissident Voice, and Blueline Magazine, among others. Having authored four chapbooks, her full-length volume is forthcoming from Fernwood Press. She has been twice nominated for both Best of the Net and a Pushcart prize. She is editor and publisher of Red Shoe Press, and volunteers at The Book Corner, a non-profit used bookstore run by the New Friends of The Beaverton City Library.