A point of light you cover with a thumb
that was not there before, and it will pass.
A few weeks mirrored fearsome in the glass
with which we watch the sky. And death will come

to everything but not on such a scale.
You can’t imagine so much burning, fire
that burns up space, and mass. All you desire
of any death it is; it will entail

holes in the fabric that will never mend.
We hope there were no worlds, or hope them stone
and gas. A sort of universal groan
the crackling wavefront of that awful end.

We watch and fear and are so far away
this one can’t kill us. We are safe today.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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4 Responses to

  1. ashnistrike says:

    I really like this one. (Not that I don’t usually like them. But I don’t usually feel moved to comment.)

  2. Anonymous says:

    Nice blog

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  3. girfan says:

    An ode to Skywatch Live? (loved it!)

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