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Einstein imagined it
and a hundred years later
an international team of astrophysicists
and their instruments
confirmed the data:
There's a black hole at the center
of our galaxy
and now we have a photo
blurry as recollection
like a cast-iron skillet
cooking pêches flambées.
But doesn't it just describe
every argument we've ever had?
A mad orbit circling a force
of gravity
no light escapes
a darkness so dark
so vast and small
quotidian and strange
buried deep
in a swirl of red hot stars.
I go to my empty corner
of the universe
you go to yours
in silence
measure our distance
after some time to cool
we reemerge -
once again approach
the event horizon,
teeter on the edge
every word
calibrated carefully
to hold us steady
for fear
of falling
into the abyss
because we know
what's at the center
an attraction so strong
and irresistible
a memory
so painful
it will tear us
apart.
1 comment:
I love these lines ...
I go to my empty corner
of the universe
you go to yours
I have never been sure which of the following is (more) true ...
(1) The more we understand about the universe, the more we understand that we must write poetry. It begs description.
(2) The more we understand about the universe, the more we understand that it's meaningless to write poetry. Who exactly are we describing it to?
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