Wednesday, January 13, 2021


Progress is 
progress. The answers 
look correct, but

nobody is asking 
the really big questions.

Exactly what sort 
of information 
does love contain? 

Could the nature 
of our relationship 
survive a black hole? 

Can't you somehow 
just picture it—
me, still begging 

your forgiveness 
as the universe rips;

your assent, 
that eerie radiance 

smeared out 
like a sustained pitch 

all along the sensuous
song of a faint
event horizon?