Naked Space Poem by T.R. James Bray

What is that desolation?
That naked space.
Far behind this sunrise, past the crimson horizon
and the life I've made with you.
I imagine
a pure emptiness, bare, unfulfilled
void of the stars light, energy, or even gravity.
Where expectation evaporates,
Disappearing.
Then, naked us
secretly moving Jupiter, waiting
while planetary rituals gather for nothing.
Even spells are cast astray.
In our Venus hour, where
we divide the universe
and fill a red balloon.
Floating up,
clinging with all our might
to a thin strip of thread, spun by our numen.
As the houses become specs of dusts,
the rivers are the purple veins of Earth.
We rise through spheres, meant only for gods and prophecy.
Our balloon expanding and stretching,
pulsing scarlet
Out, to where even cold is lost.
Ourself, the strip of thread, the balloon
hovering, where we wait,
listening, for silent hymns sung to deaf ears,
an ethereal being
in naked space.