Tractor Beam

Tractor Beam

The bulb and the moth,
the window it flew through.

The evening sky outside
the house, wrapping its arms

around the shoulders of
our planet, the tall trees,

the skylines. Beyond this,
a place of darkness and fire,

unnavigable because we
cannot think of a way

to get there, an alternate
method of breath, survival.

We see lights, and insist
we are being called there,

the brightness is meant
for us. Some decisions

feel like tractor beams,
harnesses holding us

and dragging us toward
them, we are so small

and helpless. The dark
infinity out there, and

the small radiance in
here, what is beckoning

and just where do we
think we are going.