I must step away from you,
collapsed star,
my red small sun.
I must make enough distance
to reckon from afar.
What now, center? What now,
former storm? How shall we
orbit? What rip or slit-scar
shall we choose for our new path —
or is this at last close and depart,
burn and char?
I cannot say. I only know
how far it seems from yesterday to today —
and what brilliant comet once passed this way.
Dark Matter 