| I believed they had got what they came for;
|
| I believed our peril was done
|
| On the eve of the last of the Great Wars
|
| After three we had narrowly won
|
| (But the fourth
|
| It was carelessly done.)
|
| I saw his ship in its whistling ascension
|
| As they launched from the Capitol seat-
|
| Swear I saw our mistake
|
| When the clouds draped like a flag
|
| Across the backs of the fleet
|
| Of the Hundred-First Lightborne Elite
|
| As the day is long
|
| So the well runs dry
|
| And we came to see Time is taller
|
| Than Space is wide
|
| And we bade goodbye
|
| To the Great Divide:
|
| Found unlimited simulacreage to colonize!
|
| But there was a time we were lashed to the prow
|
| Of a ship you may board, but not steer
|
| Before You and I ceased to mean Now
|
| And began to mean only Right Here
|
| (to mean Inches and Miles, but not Years);
|
| Before Space has a taste of its limits
|
| And a new sort of coordinate awoke
|
| Making Time just another poor tenant:
|
| Bearing weight, taking fire, trading smokes
|
| In the war between us and our ghosts
|
| (But I saw the Bering Strait and the Golden Gate
|
| In silent suspension of their golden age!
|
| And you can barely tell, if I guard it well
|
| Where I have been, and seen
|
| Pristine, unfelled.)
|
| I had a dream that I walked in the garden
|
| Of Chabot, and those telescope ruins
|
| It was there that I called to my true love
|
| Who was pale as millennial moons
|
| Honey, where did you come by that wound?
|
| When I woke, he was gone
|
| And the War had begun
|
| In eternal return and repeat
|
| Calling, Where in the hell are the rest of your fellow
|
| One Hundred-One Lightborne Elite?
|
| Stormed in the New Highland Light Infantry
|
| Make it stop, my love!
|
| We were wrong to try
|
| Never saw what we could unravel
|
| In traveling light
|
| Nor how the trip debrides-
|
| Like a stack of slides!
|
| All we saw was that Time is taller than Space is wide
|
| That’s why we are bound to a round desert island
|
| 'neath the sky where our sailors have gone
|
| Have they drowned, in those windy highlands?
|
| Highlands away, my John |