Famously late, light reaches us
eons past its own extinction,
yet I’m hopelessly eye-teased,
believe in these pale parentheses
scoring God’s six-pack. And feel, undone,
each pearl of ice & rock approach the sun,
the sun you are, fire plumes ripping
my chest, gaseous coma stripping down
to the gnarled quick my face must
look to you when we-—a sapphire craggy gust,
the garnet boring away of self’s old book.
Looking as only words can look,
not away, but also not at. Halo
of the unlost ego. The cauterized ago.