- Vol. 05
- Chapter 12
We lie, tired, on our backs
on the cold red earth
and watch the river of stars
flow in a cool curve of indigo.
The wind has spent eons whipping rock
into curling dark waves, now poised
on the verge of crashing –
a rush and fall suspended in time.
No white horses dance on these crests:
instead, black shadows cling to stony sea
as we fall asleep, thirsty, wondering
what galaxies taste like.