Long ago, Poe wrote
About time and starlight
In his Eureka ramble
I meditate on this as
A handful of stars
Peek owlishly between
City street lamps
Before being
Blotted out by
The storm rolling in
Burgeoning clouds
Thicken the air as
Black pervades
Thunder voices
Its booming rumble
There is no romance
In bailing out
Window wells
My basement view
Transforms into an
Aquarium, as water
Creeps higher
Up double panes
Resulting in
Seeping pools of
Dirty water, tinting
Concrete floors
Rude parody of
A Zen slate, its
Brush strokes undulating
Expanding ink stains
Sketching the clouds
Hovering above
One epic flash flares
Before a deafening crack
Shatters the elm
At alley’s end
Fridge and microwave
Cease tittering
Pressing mute on
Electric currents
Morning dawn highlights
Multiplying silver threads
Slowly elbowing out
Fellow strands of hair
The same way
Myriads of asterisms
Cast their light
Across the universe
Death is
A fathomless
Endless night
Absorbing soul’s spark
Eclipsing memory
Yet
Billions of years
From now, when
The sum of all starlight
Finally arrives
Earth’s sky
Will glow a blinding
Alabaster white
Perhaps then
I may be
Born again
Sun’s newest
Quantum child
Never knowing
What it means
To be afraid of
The dark
About the Creator
Aspen Marie
In love with life and all of its foibles.
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