Consider the evening sky—
Silver and gold strewn across the velvet fabric of the night
by some profligate god. A leisurely pinwheeling
promenade, a majestic incandescence immense enough for
Earthlings and Andromedans to admire.
Each star is a living jewel trembling in its space time
cradle, rocked by a gentle, sleepless mother, gravity.
Inhaling elements, exhaling light and warmth;
their very deaths bequeath to us the atoms in
our frames. We are star-stuff.
At the heart of every galaxy seethes a black hole
devouring stars and light like a ravenous Caliban.
Traveler, see with Creation’s eyes how the billions of
galaxies spin in their groups, the groups in their clusters
and on up to filaments that stretch across light years,
illuminating the void even as they speed away from us,
like birds moving across the waves at dusk,
and you with them.
Calyx: a Poem a Day 