we watch out over the cliff,
take video with our link-ups
as the ocean heaves with our breath.

double tide
laps high, laps low--
perfectly ordered cycles
like mothership's diagnostic check.

you point up.
two faint crescents beckon,
the echoes of jump-drive origins.
something so big should cast a shadow
like eternal eclipse.

but for our data plugs,
we should be amazed they don't pull
sideways on our orbit
like you spin me 'round
our shadows, holding hands,
leaning back,
exerting equal pressure

'til fingers slip and we fly off into the sun,
eyes dazzled as our rumps
hit the astroturf in low G.