Moral Universe

Though we are tethered,

this is not you at your end,

me at the end of mine,

feeling into space

with our voices

to find the other's

feeling.

This is flame

flaring down a well of gravity,

radiance

lapping the field of this lone globe,

knocking birds off course,

ending an ice age.

This is a fault line,

the space

in our embrace,

from whose misfit joy and calamity spill.

I am not even who,

You not least what,

but how we move -

by what moves us -

matters.

Dark fires dancing in no sky.