The fire of the Earth burns in your eyes,
A deep, smoldering brown.
Hurt, too, is shut away behind the fire, though it bleeds out all the same,
Encountering nothing from me but oblivion.
I am so stupid and thick to recoil, neither flame nor pain seen without Time's passing.
I am a star, burning cold in the great vacuum of space.
The warmth of your terra firma reaches me too late;
The spectrum of my response, celestial coronal flares— mass ejections—
Is a window to your past.
Onward. We pine for distant heavenly bodies,
Forever immersed in our own nebulae.
The comets have such a space to cross.
Such coldness, forgetfulness.
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