before sleep among the last thoughts of day,

when I close my eyes this time the distance between my fists is measured by miles and there are valleys absorbed in reflection of steam and steel, absorbing itself in forms of tectonic mission unearthly crude vast expansions between my two fists with my eyes closed

I feel sea sick or motion sick with the tide my breathing is steady but warns the guests with reaching ache lungs - really no one is between them now at all and I could open them and shrink the scape

absorbing itself between crude fists now the eyes are open fists remain fists.
really no one is between shrinking the scape open steady she goes wide unearthly tin cylinders about,
one more shut before the last oscillation measured in miles of steam itself nauseous but shifting impressively

by my standards.