Blue

There is a ship,

the bluest blue,

the shade of future time.

A morphic steed, she -

dust-battered,

solar-scarred -

waits, still made of light

and blue cobalt.

Reverse the switch,

her lights blip

in syncopated song

and wink at you,

her instruments twirl -

an invitation to waltz.

Dreams you had forgotten

flashlit to breath again

in her deep-space lights.

In your lungs and through

the map of your veins

the engines hum and throb,

a part of you.

Spinning space and all

of inconstant time

is yours to explore.