Poem by Hélène Cardona
We are made of stellar ash
— Carl Sagan
I conceive the last number,
then add one, so it never ends,
making extra space in the unsubstantial,
chimeric spectacle of dark matter.
I am copper in the labyrinth
where minerals and wolves breathe—
the ocean my wisdom—astounded,
mired in halos, a recondite sort of ray.
I map the mathematical universe, forge
equations into stellar winds—serrated
bamboo—cognizant of power laws, infinity
triggering bullets from the Cosmos.