on a line from Jorge Luis Borges


*the sand of every cycle is the same*
o infinite history of sand
you once stardust swirling in chaos
among distant and hurtling nebulae
born of impossible distance and gravity
spewn forth from the apocalypse of stellar
orgasm,      the final thrust of some unknown
unknowable supernova born of a neutron
star fallen in on its pitiable self
too vivid its life swallowing itself in
starfish glory of self-consumption
and by its great divine death
spreading seeds of new worlds
throughout its cosmic ghetto

o sand of telling,
o singular blakian grain
infinity rides you across history
though we only guess
at your velocity
while locating you
spilled from that unkowable cat
whence so much confusion
has cleared and clouded
human thought
in this singular
flashbang century;

where will you,
our speechless, untelling
cosmic brother,
when our history
ceases
where will you be?

david m pitchford
26 June 2012

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