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strain of stars

if i had ever seen anything
before, it was nothing like
this. the black, flat sheet
of night had lifted and
i saw my place inside the orb
of Everything, the empty sky
concaved, and there
we were, suspended in between
a billion here’s and there’s
by a tiny invisible
thread. or, resting on the
shoulders of an invisible
Atlas, who has not yet
heaved us into the Oblivion,
and so we float about
the grandest spherule space

it was then
i felt small enough
to die and not regret
my own life. every
memory carved into
Atoms, and bound together
with what? i am a Galaxy
teaming with life,
my surfaces are oceans,
and within and without,
time is my ever shrinking
Constant, the wrist watch
worn by my Grandfather,
and given to me, is worthless
anywhere, but here.

so when i have died
let the hum of the Cosmos
be my dirge,
the strain of stars
my threne.

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