Light Years

In the electric vortex somewhere
reaching for a neon phantom
waving from oblivion
so close
until the hand retracts
and all that’s left is plastic and ink
grinning from behind a glass panel
a fingerprint is almost touching
so close
afraid to move frozen lips
shimmering blue metallic starfire
and an echo almost resonates with
the elusive spark that flickers
and fades so close to the strobe heart
pulsing radioactive on a searchlight
so close
until it sinks with the tide
in a blaze of ultraviolet

so far away.