somewhere out between the galaxies
where there is nothing for millions of lightyears
and you would be lucky to be able to reach a few atoms in the vacuum

, no

we are among gas giants without consequences
where apologies cannot stand under their own weight
or the poisonous atmosphere

you can sail for weeks before you see the stars
teardrops frozen up there in the sky
don't cry, you're okay

asteroid fields turn silently
cold logs of that Fire that turns a world to rubble
it's not like they say, they do not all cry out
they are simply silent
reduced to ash trapped in igneous pockets
cold rock of space, your poor story
more real than i can reckon

 / / / 

the caterpillars feed on honeycomb
long before the winter, preparing, as all things do, to change
to grow and to become destiny

but the larvae on these cold worlds are not content
flapping for a few months under the faraway sun---
their hunger is so great that only one survives of a million
and the world's ecosystem topples under the weight of that one mandible
until it becomes Satellite
until it leaves in search of ice, rock, , molten cores, and

( imagine its wings against the black forever
  legs sticking to the plasmic surface , eyes unfocused
  fire pouring from the corners of its great
  gnashing mouth )

but perhaps there is hope
said the captain
, turning the ship away from the rubble,
perhaps there is time

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