Space Walk   A vacuum, they assured me, pushing me into the airlock, buckling on my bubble head. Just that one idea — nothing, the void, the great by and by. Then nothing turned out to be everything, and everything was music, swelling chords of darkness-piercing light, every star singing the song of fire! But those are just words — what else to say when they reeled me in? The words felt like stones revolving around the dead suns of what I could never tell them. All I could do was point at the spinning cosmos, that vacuum filled with the sounds they knew already — their heavens, their hells.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont April 2019