earth was destroyed 10,000 years ago.
born to a generationship, we glide ,

floating passively between some dead world
and whatever’s left,

we’re a string bound between two fabled fates,
womb and tomb,

never reaching the destination,
same as my old man, same as his ///

both thought they’d be the one to break the cycle—
both sat down to a chessboard reset,

so they became explorers,
jettisoning dreams to make weight for future’s fiery shores,

only the dumb fear fueling them,
the want to rebuild something before the oxygen ran out,

no shut-off notices on the kitchen counter.

but now I sit by the viewport, alone,
as my father once did,

staring into the dark and dangerous nothing,
trying to keep count

of all the tiny specks of light,
each one, a vivid possibility from the beyond,

for even if we lose hope, dear, we mustn’t lose wonder.

prayer: recite it kindly to the stars,
even certain they don’t listen,

if only for all the small, luminous eyes that still believe,

staring out the cupola, heavens dancing—
splashing upon the panes,

that before certainty or salvation,
leave intact the soft curiosities,

a child’s permission to dream.