Touch the North Star
with a fingertip,
a heartbeat echoes
long after a lifetime.
The road race
on endless asphalt
leads to the horizon,
the finish line.
Openness and aching,
heavy breathing,
wrapped in cloudy memory.
Put on a helmet,
pump the tires,
send the soul into orbit,
a starlink satellite,
The lightest touch
is liftoff,
each of us
with our own unique trajectory.
A sequence of codes
rockets us past
this prison of gravity
through the gradual transition
of space and time.
Stardust and sinew.
I have to believe
we arc towards victory
despite the partially obscured view.
©2023 | K.F. Hartless
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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