Celestial Body

Outside the atmospheric fire,
breathing, breathing, beating,
the stars and atoms mask us well.

A dark mirror piled upon heaven, where
cracks of light spill through in winks and gleams.
Clouds of poison gas catch lighting and eat energy
in long strands, coruscating like veins running
the living network between cell and sinew.
Further out into the dark, past our point
on the earth where the sky reflects the
skyscrapers, and the black does not look
as infinite as it is, though it still drowns us out
like thin air on a long spine of mountains.
Galaxies spin like the nucleus whirling, screaming,
at the systems surrounding to obey, to obey.
Rings of planets, old scars from collisions, and clouds
of rocks that determine life outside in the deep.
Like the wind here, like the wind here.
The sun, the furnace, the forge, the workshop for all our
fire, life, collecting like an endless cluster of stars
in dead space.
Not a single one of our atoms,
was not forged in the furnace of the sun.
And it shows,
as galaxies, stars, even nebula,
breathe and exhale in our veins.
A complete and utter respiratory system,
in harmony with the cosmic deep and dark.

Outside the atmospheric fire,
breathing, breathing, beating,
the stars and atoms become us well.