I am in the ice, leaning against Ray Charles’
piano. The keys are monochrome and sharp,
within them a vacuum I must cross to
allow you to hear his fingers, the ones that
help me forget loneliness. He died before Voyager 1
found her courage to enter termination shock;
I told her that it was okay, your memory of Earth
golden among elder stars that have forgotten their
records. Like them, I have thrashed papyri to vinyls
to DNA storages to unlearn love, just to hear your
pulsar in my direction, a dense heartbeat in static.
Billions of years in songs of our destined galaxies,
but this coma eclipses my instruments to see the
creases of your slumber in the fabric of space-time.
Love is the entire Universe between pixels, where
i’ll miss you by millions of light years, just to find myself.