Nebula
Aug 16 · 1 min read

the dusts were spinning,
dusts of iron and gold
red hot, everywhere and nowhere.
some shone bright and violent
and spun dollops of dust around them
again, and again, and again
till eons were no more than tiny specks in time
out of those dusts, out of those violent stars
out of random, incoherently balanced mechanisms
out of meaningless definitions
out of mere dusts from nowhere
from an endless epoch ago
you and me rose
and it all made sense.
