The sun sends its tides our way
Fresh snow gets caught in the current.
All around me it swells
And I am caught in the riptide.
This is what it must be like
434 light years away.
Not cobalt bliss,
But subdued ebony.
The stillness is impressive,
The cold is haunting
And the quiet, perplexing.
But the light - the light is otherworldly.
It leaves red fingerprints on my retina
And lets me enjoy it with closed eyes.
As if its milky magnificence could be forgotten
In the blink of an eye.
All this time I could travel vast distances
By stepping out my door
Just gazing at fresh snow
On a sunny afternoon,
In the Milky Way.