locked away in silence
inside of its case,
that causes the moon
to appear
larger
on the horizon—
in order, perhaps,
to make itself
less conspicuous
to silence's stare,
and its distance,
and its dark.
*
It's the way,
when a body stops
for more than
one second,
this slithery sense
of permanence attaches—
the pit in your
stomach, say; or
a neutron star
far away.
*
I feel so alone.
Remind me again
what kind of stuff
we're all
made of—
bone meal and
table sugar,
or stardust
and wave functions,
or diploid cells,
cloned
and then cloned
and then
cloned?
