by Aly Northrup
Infinity is a field of cerulean flax
Blooming, broken golden stalks and seeds,
Life and death a reliable whim of the world,
Earth recycled,
Horizon to horizon, blue then gold, then blue again,
No beginning
No end
Waves of useful,
worthless,
infinite
gold.
And I run my fingers through her deep-rooted hair,
I play with the stuff of the universe—
Stringy, tangled, quivering fibers,
Matter and shadow enmeshed in matter and shadow,
Amiably drowning in the ocean that never ends. And
I am
alone.
