On trips to outer space,

When I leave my body

Behind and exit through the window,

I take with me an empty lunchbox.

I wrestle the stars

Into submission thanks to

Near-nightly practice,

Then stuff them into my

Slowly filling pail.

The hinges creak and strain

As I try for just one more.

But as I sit on the lid

To close it tight

Before returning home,

I am thrown off

And the light escapes.

I open my eyes in bed

And try again tomorrow.