The universe is as close as the veins in your neck

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The angle seemed askew,an enigmatic grin hangingat the end of the highway,a last orange gasp.

Beethoven on the radio,his silence tangiblebetween the sounds.

We pull a history in unmatched wordsfrom two hemispheresover empty space.

I rememberat least one ancient cellin the body comes from stardust.

We follow the black syntaxof the moon's thoughtsout to drifting stars.

A universe expanding into nothing,we are the space we travel to.

© Sullivan Rosemary