The Corner of The Hour

Take my hand into the corner of the hour. Let us stand here in our boat, while tiny waves hit upon our craft, leaving messages from this lonely body of water.

If we dream here long enough, one million drops of sky-rain will zero our flesh and arrive in time, as darts to a bulls-eye.

Ghosts, in times before us, have traveled toward and landed on a million and one of these ocean galaxies that stretch out before us.

Around stars they ventured, twisting and turning through the old atmospheres and in through the sky  night-net they came. To counter the loneliness, the hounds of home would blow them a tune throughout their far-away travels.

And so it was, via the currency of our sleep and dreams they arrived and patrolled. 

To this day, they are here.