It becomes an anomaly
like Hanny's Voorwerp,
this twisting rope of gas
or tidal tail,
the theorist, or other-
wise, who becomes
and twists its tale
is now the light behind.
The quasar too
has much its part
in this greater mouth
universe
which swallows
it or simply hums,
like that tune that ears
make up, from parts of
what is whole.
And God, how small am I
to be smaller still
encapsulated
by an ear
who's often heard
the parts of this anatomy
that trail as words
still lit by light
but older
having traveled
and stood still
like honey in a clouded
glass.
January 15th, ’11
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