10 o'clock in the morning. a ring,
the distant ring of a bell, and he
enters the room surrounded
by his nebula... outside
the left window it started
to snow, a while agao,
and I hear him passing slowly
through, mumbling funny words,
like moon phase, Milky Way and
Kepler, Jupiter's rings, or the
conquest of space...
space, the last fronteer, the
double stars inhabiting the universe
in constellations and galaxies
and Henry Norris Russell...
The only thing I'm thinking of,
the empty spaces between
our breaths and black holes...
so I count the days
till page 58...
Outside the left window
the whiteness engulfed
the yard and trees and
alleys and the few black crows
still jumping around up and down the stairs...
I swiftly fall through
black holes... and swirls of
thoughts inside my head
keep spinning me
until I'm swallowed up...
to end up a reflection
in your iris.