My vessel
hovers above the water,
a crystal lake
calm as a baby’s breath.
A couple of plastonlangs
lean over from the bank,
and sip.
They’re joined
by wigsghines, poladorms
and borrels.
They have no interest in each other.
Thirsts must be slaked,
and there’s enough nectar for all.
The light of this sky
is brighter than the nights I remember.
So the surface below can be clear
for as long as no clouds come by.
I can see the reflection
of my vehicle’s undercarriage.
I drop down a tube,
suction some of that nectar
up into my mouth.
If it’s good enough for a plastonlang...
The moons look like drumheads in the sky.
But it’s the stars that attract my attention.
I wonder if any one of them
could be my sun.
The shriek of a solistar
invites the west wind
to blow it home to its nest
in the Oralian hills.
There is no such wind for me.
