supernova

when a star dies, it is a violent explosion.

it can emitt more light than an entire solar system.

and while it pulses with hot gas and blue light,

it slowly dims. until its remnants are scattered

and painted across the sky in a ragged memorial. 

while i have never seen a star die, 

i know what it is like. every orifice spills out light.

from my eyes, it is pearly white.

my gaseous innards swirl across the black canvas

next to stars that don’t shine as bright.  

i see myself in these stars, the shrines of greek tragedies 

in the form of constellations or flaming force fields

of brutally colliding atoms. 

the sky is a mirror. 

blanketed in galaxies, strangled by space. 

humans are not supposed to survive up here.

and yet i can breathe.