Black holes, after
the event horizon
is crossed, cascade

stars, dust,
any and all mass,
even the blue

light of eyes
caught, to a fine
point of final

weight. A singularity
of gravity
so dear

not even quantum
weirdness exists.
Yet, like all

pleasing paradoxes,
such a crush
holds possibility,

like a universe,
a future
unfolding.

In the beginning,
before the word,
a singularity -

naked - without
the questionable
company of a black

hole - exploded.
We still reel
with all our

partners from the
changing positions
of blown years.

Poetry Magazine