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Description
you
you can still taste the static
that crisp flash of heat forever seared onto the back of your throat
you are mute,
sprawling, scattered, skidding,
beautiful yet
farther and farther from yourself each second
tracing fine, fibrous paths in the empty swaths of silence left by the sweeping wake of the one culmination that marks your song
footsteps fall into cold rhythm, their prints wash across chasms of absolute zero in time to ripple solar flares
but not to blot out the aching emptiness that comes from watching yourself drift to pieces
from haplessly awaiting true silence. from chasms that even echoes can’t cross

and so you fill the gaps with whispers wrenched from your throat that was branded with the imprint of continuity, no,
of beginnings
of the sacrifice it takes to be
of the cost of a single note

your song bled into the gaps between the worlds your impact scattered
in a starburst of invisible colors you told your story
in
white-lipped ghosts, and threads of cold static
in echoes
you told your story
in
the background, you were there

so that even when the space between suns
overwhelms the prospect that we are not a singularity in the void
when civilization can shout and shout until its voice mirrors yours and still meet nothing but gut-dropping emptiness
your song of radiation will tell tales of clustered stars and worn knots between worlds and questioned regret:
is the price of creating something beautiful
that it must fall apart in the end?

Description
you
you can still taste the static
that crisp flash of heat forever seared onto the back of your throat
you are mute,
sprawling, scattered, skidding,
beautiful yet
farther and farther from yourself each second
tracing fine, fibrous paths in the empty swaths of silence left by the sweeping wake of the one culmination that marks your song
footsteps fall into cold rhythm, their prints wash across chasms of absolute zero in time to ripple solar flares
but not to blot out the aching emptiness that comes from watching yourself drift to pieces
from haplessly awaiting true silence. from chasms that even echoes can’t cross

and so you fill the gaps with whispers wrenched from your throat that was branded with the imprint of continuity, no,
of beginnings
of the sacrifice it takes to be
of the cost of a single note

your song bled into the gaps between the worlds your impact scattered
in a starburst of invisible colors you told your story
in
white-lipped ghosts, and threads of cold static
in echoes
you told your story
in
the background, you were there

so that even when the space between suns
overwhelms the prospect that we are not a singularity in the void
when civilization can shout and shout until its voice mirrors yours and still meet nothing but gut-dropping emptiness
your song of radiation will tell tales of clustered stars and worn knots between worlds and questioned regret:
is the price of creating something beautiful
that it must fall apart in the end?