Solitary, after the day retreat’s,
the only light a screen.
Cold fingers giving shape to thought,
of worlds as yet unseen.
Cocooned in blackness of unearthly space,
untethered from an anchored mind.
Ideas gestate in such a place,
where fertile matter seeks to find.
Drifting far from expectation,
no longer confined to Journeys plan.
Reluctant recipient of incantations,
the disembodied thoughts of man.
Then slowly falling back to night,
the room in light reveals
and words imparted during flight,
adorn the page which heals.