Old Sol burns through morning lace and mist
Somehow placed to coax a blue-pearl world,
And we live.
Our star, our firmament
were birthed in a collosal throe
Far from any memory
From an unimaginable,
Sol, its worlds, our eyes
watch red shifts as sun, earth
Careen from other celestial bodies.
Ages later, a future generation,
Perhaps, may see a turn to blue,
As sun, maybe, and globe, maybe
And, maybe, we
Face the possiblity
of starting again.
Sun’s end, creation’s pause,
Return to smash,
Fill imagination, trouble dreams
And, we live.
[Thoughts on a morning walk after reading cosmology.]