anywhere but here

there is no air
no water
no place to get a cup
of hot coffee.
no sandwich shop.
no hotel, or place to browse
a book, or
trinket on a shelf.
no place to sit down
and rest,
except maybe on
the precipice of an
ancient volcano,
or crater made when
something hit.
there is nothing there but
rocks.
it might take nine months
of silent travel
through the stars
to arrive,
and yet the pull to get
there persists.
I understand the thought
though, of wanting
to be anywhere but here.