Out on the wire

Just wondering

What would you say if I asked, Ever been out on the wire? For as long as I can remember, I’ve had these visions of our race.
On two hundred thousand different planets, Entwined in exotic dreamscapes, Engaged at stations, their modified forms at work, Assembling giant firing defilades.
Through night vision heads-up display, Entrenched along a stripped mined gash,
With heaps of skeletal structures on the rim, Between the cratered soot-grey ditch lines.
You can see their cadavers lit, Speckled under personal area array, Are the desperate last acts,
Trying to be ID for R&R.
Often recounted as being reminiscent, Of lightning bugs swallowed by bristling
Electronic concrete teeth from the rise. What I just described, I know is just fantasy.
But I swear I’ve met others whose memories are wrecks like mine, In shock every shake, telling a similar story. He said, “I don’t wanna go back, you’ve seen it. Maybe this life is our R&R.”
So I said, “I don’t know, maybe.” But what I wanted to say was: 26 is our current solar cycling this system, To complete a full solar rotation.
Pulled in a firma terrain 24-hour swing, Contractors are down for either 60, 100, or 190 rotations, With a full life recovery and refit, In a planet-side setting.
Yep. The days are getting longer, And the decades are getting shorter. Well, it’s good to see you. I’d love to stay and chat, but it looks like I got to go do another run.
I’d say, hit me up if you ever wanna pull a lift, But we’ll never be here again. Hey, you never know when it’s over, Maybe I’ll see you out on the rise this time.
But I just can’t do it, It goes against my better judgment to act crazy. So I leave it unsaid, Pretend I don’t understand.
When it happens again, If that even makes sense, It’s not like anyone would ever tell me.