v2. The Generation Ship

[alonso ramoran]

The Generation Ship

Time moves backward—
or, its current awaits surrender, seconds losing
measurement:

Here is the bed I was kept from,
as I answered to many names,
though my answers could never be heard
with the voice of a body.

And above, that clear blue window of air
is for looking into the space
ahead and left behind,
the future and past. Yes I remember:
time must be created
to guide the vessel,
not counted.

So long have I placed faith
in a reunion with the self, deprived sorrows, vespertine
dark of wisdom, under the conditions
of the body's passing, that I counted away
wonderful beings. How
strange it is now
to return to the source—a tear to its oldest ocean, seconds
slowing
into one
moment in the waves
of forever.

The details of the moment become the dream,
the creation of time,
this vessel's direction.

v1
The Generation Ship

Time moves backward—
or, its current awaits surrender, seconds losing
measurement:

Here is the bed I was kept from,
as I answered to many names,
though my answers could never be heard
through the voice of a body.

And above, that clear blue window of air
is for looking into the space
ahead and left behind,
the future and past. Yes I remember:
time must be created
to guide the vessel,
not counted.

So long have I placed faith
in a reunion with the self, my sorrow, vespertine
dark of wisdom, under the conditions
of the body's passing, that I counted away
wonderful beings. How
strange it is now
to return to the source—a tear to its oldest ocean, seconds
slowing

into a moment in the waves of forever.
The details of the moment become the remembered dream,
the light for all movement in space.