Last Voyage of the Relavista

Wavy lines pass the window,
tubes of light squeezed up between them.
Baby sleeps craddled in the church
of his brother's arms.

We are fifteen years out
from the wreck of the Meridesterous.
Fresh peaches rippen in the orchards
and salmon run in the hatcheries.

We are the favoured/savoured/ of the Gong San,
our voyage a pilgimmage to an arid star.
Arraminta is our shield maiden,
the Milky Way glimmers
before the prow of our ship.

Where once we had homes, now
we live in the belly of the Relavista,
our land of Cannan. We shall not return.

Our children are born in the null of space.
We fall through sunsets of time,
the last, the lost,
bereft of homelands.

All we have known, detrius behind us.
We slide into our future like a slipper,
soft, on the steps of the Imperial Suyn -
They do not know we come.