The sky is thick with stars,
those sharp points of extinction,
those vanished firsts. And behind them
more stars, countless points
of departure, a carbon haze
of persistence, whales
sliding through grassy gases
grazing on clouds of krill,
inhaling stars. You can almost
hear it, their slow breath,
almost see their vague shapes
adrift, their rippled chins
skimming the galaxy’s
outer reaches, their massive
shadows echoing beneath.


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