Geese at night cry forth to light
diminished, signal to winter's brief
distill that once again will widen
into something infinitely new.
Do we move towards smaller things
to see how large their utterance?
Worth of a dust-winged moth
depth of blackness at work in DNA?
Image isolated becomes poem
explodes into some other universe
brings us to our knees to think -
what births a star, what kills it?
Gravity pulls upon itself
lets nothing in, nothing out
until at the core, something small
begins to tunnel towards the taper
becomes embrace that in itself
holds all realization of departure.