Maybe we are not at any center of the universe
but at the very bottom of it,
looking up.
At faces and stars alike.
The world alone is impossibly large, impossibly unknowable and
made of recycled life.
Autumn at the fingertips of this month
and I’m chin up,
seated on its palm.
Strange how we pray for gray skies
after all the bright incredible sunsets in the Steel City.
We ask for rest from the awe and disbelief.
We ask for mundane to hibernate a pounding heart.


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