Our universe is tattooed
on the inner lip
of a black hole’s event horizon
and a columbine
jerks stiffly in the wind.
It doesn’t mind
or has no mind;
it lives to be read
by insects.
*
This child is merry
and lonely.
She twinkles knowingly
at no one
like a revolving door
or star.
In one view
she is being stretched out
in another she’s travelling
in and in
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