poetry by j matthew waters

objects in mirror are closer than they appear

how will I write traveling
near the speed of light
hazards blinking red
or so command tells me

the autopilot speaks
on different occasions
sort of a play by play
coming through the pipe

I lean back & jot down
a few words about the weather
always lacking here
no wind no rain no snow

personal experience
tells me I become younger
each passing light year
lines on faces diminishing

may two thousand twenty-one
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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