From high above the earth I've seen
a shared view with the eagle's keen sense
of focus a darkened tower of cloud bank shining,
& beneath its bower prosaic beams of sunlight
engrave an inscription of steam on the land
underneath unveiling a dream whose vision
bequeathed to mine eyes held aloft
of the glorious scrying, the difference between
those living & dying, though seemingly occupied
on the same land and on happenstance meetings
intertwined by the hand are in fact in a fleeting
transition of fate whereby sharing the meadow
on each other's date is entirely besides the point
as of late, for each bending vista that reflects
from their eyes is a seperate world under
differing skies and the dream shared between them
an illusory lie as they whistle together hand in hand
down the path oblivious to the contact in defiance
of the wrath of the moment illumined by the Sun.
The intergalactic contact is over the moment
when our clasped hands come undone.