I saw an ibex once
trotting calmly through the olive grove
sleek, glossy coat
the shade of parched wheat glancing
through the deep green-near-black
she rested her head for a moment
in a glimpse of shade
and continued her meander
kicking up dust
You told me once that
we are all made of stardust
shaped carefully
stitched delicately
substance and form
that the hole in the chest was filled on that first day of new life,
made replete with supernovae
raw light, old light
only glimpsed by others five hundred years after
burning brightly, ecstatic
giving forth with all the same righteous strength as the cup overflows
that light which spans eons and the parsecs between
a man and his fellow
You told me about the stars from which we came
the explosion of being
the matter sent spiraling across the void
and the fires which flared beyond the bounds
set upon our foreheads
too far, too fast
feeding alone, and only to grow ever larger
eclipsing their own smoke
and consuming the moons in their wake
About how those flames collapse upon themselves
into themselves
growing ever smaller
until they are nothing but hunger,
and a scar upon the sky
She was startled by the car
and bolted into the tall grass at
the edge of tilled soil
our eyes followed until they
fell
silent, searching
dust kicking up dust
