poetry

redshift

Space, she doesn’t wait...


                            Your memory drifts
              As a kid’s soap-bubble blown
      On wind-away;
  Can’t do anything with stay,
                                  Or what I didn’t say,
                      And to pop it’d be to disown
              What’s o’ertaken now with evening-grey—
          So I scratch at the dune-hung sun
        For what it sifts.
Yesterday redshifts
  To another stellar bay,
        My most brilliant ray
                  Bent backwards unto it:
                              That diverging plane,
                        So distant from the ruddy dirt,
            This wickedly parched plain
That made us,
          When and where I once was blameless
               For loving you,
                  Star-flung and free-spun—
                Your light an unsung, unbuckled beam
          Through the milkiest of ways.
                      But space, she doesn’t wait
                  For one yay or a chorus of weak-kneed nays,
           At the start or at the end,
  As she closes in;
          It’s the heart again,
                  A spigot for that dust-bait,
                                Time-borrowed art that imparts
                    What others would send for:
            Love or a brother,
    An unlocked door for their weather
Or an uphill kick for that downhill lever.
                        Adore what you’ve had and let it stick,
                In supernovae-seconds, there’ll not be another
      Like you forever.


Previous Post:
    Music: On Jovian Clouds
        https://windstrewn.com/2020/04/25/on-jovian-clouds-2/


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