I wish I’d never caught this shuttle view
of the Small Magellanic Cloud—millions
of stars, red dwarfs to supernovas, hues
so rich they vie with rainbows, their bullions
of acrylic light blazing, hydrogen
gas and dust swirling in stellar winds. It’s
not their massive constellation open
like some giant, flaming cavity that
stuns me; but that single burst of sky-blue
cloud, burning bright as her clear eye’s iris.
Houston, I know regs ban saying this to
you, but I must tell someone how I miss
her. This black hole inside me is a curse.
Please, just let me scream to the universe.
Roger Armbrust
August 31, 2007
