The old captain spoke of myths from Earth,
How a ball of thread—red, he claimed—led
A hero to a monster, and out of the labyrinth
After. He said this as he followed beacons
Made of alien alloys through a breach
In the universe’s skin, his ship a needle
Skimming the fabric, stitching a path Between
In and out of reality. I asked if he’d seen
A monster in his travels, and he shook
His head. Maybe because I’d held a gun
To his temple to make him take me aboard,
Or maybe because he knew no hero
Was coming to save him. We all hope
The Between will hide us, but in the end
No matter how far we go, there we are
With our tattered morals and dingy dreams,
The captain no more or less at fault
Than I. No one sees the villain in
Themselves, justifications built up
Like the scaffolding around a ship
Before it’s launched, holding identity
In place until one day, we realize
We’re in Between the now
And the eternities, and no one wants
Us to win, and no one stands
In the way of our projectiles
But an old man who still believes in heroes.