He is 5.
He shares his cookie with me
And insists that I get a goodnight kiss too.

He is 7.
We play cops and robbers
And I get to be the cop.

He is 10.
We still talk to each other,
But his parents tire of me.

He is 13.
He remembers me,
But I grow weak and faded.

He is 15.

Rows upon rows of blossoming cherry trees.  Her quiet footsteps lead her to one and she leans against it, waiting.  A light breeze sends a gentle rain of petals past her delicate shoulders and down to her sandaled feet.  The wind changes direction and sweeps back her hair to reveal a smooth neck and perfect lips.  She smiles up at the infinite, flawless sky and closes her eyes, basking in warm happiness and thinking of him.  His arms around her waist.  His hand on her hip.  His lips on hers.  He was always there for her.  She can feel him there now.  Why won’t he come closer?  Their eyes lock.  A wave crashes cruelly against a craggy cliff.  Sharp crystals pierce her heart from within.  Time stops and in the back of her mind, a blood-red poppy falls silently onto the ground.

through the lenses of big cannons on a battleship
hurling though the maddeningly opaque orange fog
question marks cloaked in an atmosphere composed of ice and dust
an elaborate dance of spectacular flying mountains
spiral patterns of compression and expansion
an immense number of collisions and odd perturbations
an exhilarating mission an invisible sliver a strange metamorphosis
a glimpse a few snapshots a rather dim bulb
a journey through dark and wispy radiation
a challenge for the reddish haze to rip apart and reveal a eureka moment
curiosity uncertainty disappointment and frustration
all towards destruction an infinitesimally small point.