No Ticket Needed to Travel Between Moments

My hand reached out to
present my ticket to the
conductor standing right
across from me, not four feet
away from my bag.

Yet before our flesh could
press he is across the
horizon, rings of dross
surrounding us both,
the moon hung in stereo
against an unfamiliar
sky. Which galaxy
is this, with black
entireties and alien
consultations? I am lost.

I reach out my hand again
and my body is tossed across
a surface pocked by craters,
those violent contacts
made by mad comets and debris.
Yet it is still not far enough.

How can I reach this
stranger, an unfamiliar
silhouette beckoning?
And should I even try?
Is he the cause of all this,
my mislead through place?

It seems I must attempt
this journey if I am
ever to reach my destination.
Try and hopefully succeed
before I drift off to that
distant red dwarf over
the curve of my sight.

But without gravity
to assist me I may be
visiting other oddities
on my way, an involuntary
tourist unable to ask
for directions from my guide
on this the universal
jaunt through spectacle.

Charlotte Ozment lives on several acres in Texas. She finds words hidden in the world around her and can sometimes put them to paper before they fade.

Find more by Charlotte Ozment in the Author Index.

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