She took us from the earth in an anodized shuttle.

My mother was showing us the world one plaza at a time. 

A covered parkade. A series of serried travelators.

The south-westerly squall, blown in and tuned to a comfortable seventeen. 

My mother was showing us her dreaming - middle class cleanliness and order.

Gaming cartridges lined neatly in a glass display. A bargaining at the returns desk.

Battered honey chicken in a Bainmarie.

My brother fell in love like skunk to painted cat.

I went to a talk from an astronaut who had just returned to earth.

He thought he’d miss comfort.

In the relentless hum of human machine, what he missed was mess.

A watermelon rind, left out in a storm.

The golden retriever shedding by the window, 

curious canine scent lifting from her slow breathing body.

Incessant murmurations blooming like a first opened fragrance.

The white morph of the grey goshawk, tearing with its claws at the slick scales of the river fish.

Stranded like space junk in a low earth orbit, he played the ballad of rain making mud.