Someone plugged in the universe
and it swirled up and out and into a lustful and holy mess
that scattered us all over before we slammed together
and then ricocheted
and burned and cooled.
Flame tendrils like fingers reaching;
Some held and gained weight
Other slipped away but left invisible heat
That circles back to slap us awake in wondering.
It all echoes, you know:
Cries and sighs
Babies in the night, silent graves;
Dark memories, the smiling, splashing days.
The anger of the forgotten and dispossessed.
All the words said and never said,
The sweetest kiss, the softest touch;
The saddest, hollow departure;
A heart left empty for no reason.
Oh, this explosion seems so orderly
And predisposed to ending,
Gravity weaker at the edges.
We run away, fold inside ourselves
And cement in the grief and love
and the laughter and smiles and tears
and eyes locked, fingers bound,
bodies entwined and bruised and
Wrap ourselves in some hard capsule
Awaiting the final screaming exit.
But, wait; it is gravity still.
And after all the swirling and scattering
And denial and acceptance,
Something breaks free
Like a stone from billion miles away
To scratch across the diagram of never-touching circles
And creates its own weight;
As the unseen, forgotten dust coalesces
Into your face
And all the spinning and distance