When We Hear Stars

When we hear stars
we think backlit pinholes
on black velvet and we wonder
what lies beyond the smooth surface
of the finite expanding universe.

Other nights we think
star wombs pregnant with iron
giving birth to planet children
like a fusion of mass and energy
unbounded by love’s strange topologies.

 

About the Poet:  Ray Sharp is the author of Memories of When We Were Birds; Dating Tips for Conservatives, A New Poetry Primer for a Desperate Age; and the forthcoming A Is for Atheist, B Is for Buddhist. Ray blogs at newnewlimingablues.wordpress.com.

 

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