by Mary K. O’Melveny
Everything we think we know was already
understood by arcs of dust and gasses.
They travel through the cosmos like a luminous
necklace of diamonds and lace webbing.
Their curtain of lights can disturb the movements
of the universe. Stars and black holes consort
like hungry lovers who could consume everything
if realigned just so. As these swirls of wind
and fire float past the Milky Way, our own galaxy
sits, tiny as a viral droplet in a lab.
We struggle to comprehend our fates, to pierce
walls so vast we cannot hope to see the other side.
Events spiral past our control, perturbing space
and time. Still we fix our lenses on illumination.