Cold space, silent, black
no birds sing
cold metal spinning
silver-white, quiet
eyes peer from tough
imagining the colour green
the wind, the colour blue
the sea, the colour pink
the sky at sunset.

Settlers spinning
through the dark
a far place far from
soil you can stand on
soil you can crunch in your hand
those silver stars
lose their lustre when you must
avoid their suck and burn
calculate trajectory
roll on.

Treading worn in corridors
pressing worn on panels
obeying touch,
no rush of wind, all ears are
mute, all brains are
teeming, all calculating

Barren land they left
all growing done
sandscape orange and dry
silent hiss of grains
in winds that grit the eye.

On board
they drink water sparingly
and wait.  Becalmed
they check the sails
and pray.
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