Only the View

They board quietly. I set the course.

They arrive within the same minute. Separately.

The woman enters first. The child stays close without touching. She carries too many things.

The man arrives after. He carries only himself and several explanations.

The child asks if they are going the right way. I confirm the coordinates. I do not answer.

The man begins speaking. His voice has the rhythm of something repaired too many times. Delay. Pressure. Misunderstanding.

She watches the stars instead of him.

She says the distance doesn't change. Only the view.

The child opens crackers between them. Nobody takes one.

The child asks whether ships can fly backwards.

The woman watches a star that has probably already died. She says not all. Some disappear early enough to stay beautiful.

Outside, stars burn without instruction. Inside, nobody touches.

I carry people. Some things they say to each other I do not log.