When my hands are in you turning that ancient wheel
and we become one body moving above abandoned streets
I am more than whole. I am more.
I drink of your twisted engine and see through your wicked lights
everything that may be seen in this cold rust city.
We are the patrol in half gravity. We are one.
The sweeping lamps curl over our view and highlight crimes that once bit deep
and drank the clotted blood of this city.
Once a colony, it is now unsettled. We are God here.
Alone more than any man has ever been alone, I am a planet
in your chassis driving through the sky.
I am the only one who sees. We are the real.
On this desolate satellite city, we idle gently in the dark vacuum
and the intestines of old buildings are unfurled by the absence of rotation.
Memories float without direction. We witness to deaf nothing.
With you, I am one with old memories moving through air, and I am consoled
for I have known gravity, and I have known flight
and this is a freedom native to neither.
Tara Barnett is a writer living in Oregon. She has been published in Stone Telling and Daily Science Fiction. She can be found online at tarabarnett.com.