Quaking on salmon-colored rock,
The foot bones of centuries clatter
For their origins.
Ribs splinter with a rasp--
Rising ash, dust, and ember light.
Outside the brittle circle,
Darkness is a silent panther
Waiting.
It is cold in the belly of a void . . .
And soundless.
Before veins of light shiver,
Firing the shapes that we can describe:
Bursting star, colliding moons.