Thursday, March 12, 2015


Born of debris, one sweet 
where silicates hold tight,  
hot like nothing before it, 
hell-bent on escape. 

Where brothers and sisters  
burned out and  
fell to be nothing, this meteoroid  
makes it through.  

With cosmic velocity, a  
birthday present of matter delivers itself;  
through a tear in the fabric of the atmosphere, 
a gift to us, 
deepest iron glinted with  
the flecks of time, of space.  

Like a baseball thrown way out of the stadium,  
it smashes into the desert,  
twinkling in the eye of the sun;  
that distant relative  
who looks down upon the crater as if to say  
well done, you did it, you got away. 

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