Even a well-executed escape must end eventually
.​Red giants with painted lips orbit
solitude’s last chill: space between her ribs growing
​more luminous, more electric.

Who could have known that loss was a palpable thing: a cosmic scream​
or a shuttle that orbits an inhabited planet,
sends love notes to land, cutting-edge engine trembling. At the planet’s response,
​it sputters, becomes space dust.

Wonder: that sensation she’d almost forgotten,​
like how to curl your body into another body like a ringed
moon. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she heard​
agonizing silence, but saw star clusters. Said,

‍There is somewhere a firework pushing through
​black holes. There is somewhere the galaxy
is not fractal. There is somewhere a nova​
discovering fire.