Poets for Science
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Although your gravity tugged at me,
I thought I was at a safe distance
watching you smolder
in the black.

You turn and burn your limitless self,
spinning nets of light that trace your path through the sky.
you look out and are enchanted
by your own gossamer creations.

You think it is the only world you have.

I’m noticed
and you give me a conspiratorial smile.
Your invisible rays pass through me;
only pain enough to feel your beauty.


I see you falter
in a shuddering contraction.
Yourself is not enough.

Your light fades and in your own gravity, you fall.
You crash hard
but bounce and bloom:
a point, a ball, an expanse of phoenix fire.


Fusing desperate elements, your sky fills with all of reality and dazzling possibilities.
Instant to instant bits and pieces come and go again.
Some degrade slowly, burning off their stored passion.
Others remain, like gold, silver, copper
and the elements to begin,


I was too close.
As you expanded to fill my view,
I was struck by your wild fire
and then I am nothing.

I am gone.

Over time
I become again my parts,
my former self, but different.
I see possibilities,
new ways of being,

new worlds.

You too will be something else again,
perhaps shining brighter than before
most likely outside of my orbit
and I, outside of your gravity.

A distant shimmering star.

But scattered in your path,
I could not completely separate yours from mine.
As I become again, a few parts of you will remain,
veins of gold in the layers of my new world.