Our blue star roils
coronal parachutes detach
soaring on thermal updrafts
before succumbing to the vacuum
a silent shriek of fading bat wings
converge into a halo of cloudscape
in an outer realm so far beyond
the cauldron which feeds it
enormous tidal spurts of ejecta
celebrate in molten triumph
licking the void with sudden languor
and while in full blown possession
continues to evolve every living day.
We are watched like clockwork
by the scintillating eyes of the Sun.  


1 comment:

shaun said...

Second publication on blogger (originally published on G+).