The dusty Century
dictionary is humped open
between oblique
and oblivion
in the reading area
that no one
uses—asking silently
about seconds and longevity,
a void. Leather-
cushioned Stickleys sit all day
in this observatory. Science
works on its specific
energies, churning how the universe
unspooled. I’m told Earth
will be eaten up.
I watch the shaggy
clouds. Insistent carpet.
When the lens opens, the distance
conducts its enormity, its wonder
of whatever was. And ever since.
