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  • Poem of the Day: Voyager
    We've packed our bags, we're set to fly
    no one knows where, the maps won't do.
    We're crossing the ocean's nihilistic blue
    with an unborn infant's opal eye.

    It has the clarity of earth and sky
    seen from a spacecraft, once removed,
    as through an amniotic lens, that groove-
    lessness of space, the last star by.

    We have set out to live and die
    into the interstices of a new
    nowhere to be or be returning to

    (a little like an infant's airborne cry).
    We've set our sights on nothing left to lose
    and made of loss itself a lullaby.

    Source: Poetry June 2008

    Todd Hearon

    More poems by this author


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