I learned about space
yesterday.

Most of it went over my head,
like the number of light years
separating us on different planets,
and the non-linear timeline that exists
outside human conventions.

When the sun finally explodes, that light
will take just over 8 minutes to reach us.

What would you do in that time?
If these were our last 8 minutes,
would you let me take your hand in mine?

If it were storming,
would you watch the lightning dance
across the sky with me?

I’ve been waiting for inspiration as if
it were a bolt of light.

I’ve been thinking about you,
without any understanding
of what it means.

The thoughts are strange,
persisting within the state of limbo
that’s attempting a coup in my brain.

Maybe I’ll find the nerve to speak
them aloud, swift and breathless,
imitating lightning.

Maybe I won’t, letting them
blister and fizzle in the heat
of white light.

Either way, this light shines
with no dimmer, no off switch.