White Mountains, Blue Vista, Black Hole

"Black holes are not, as it turns out, places where time ends once and for all; they are objects that exist for some period of time before they eventually disappear."

Always dynamic,

Always finite, everything

Observed, observing,

Long as you don't look, there's hope.

A man living in his car

Hobbles through the coffee shop

And buys a short chai latte

With a fistful of loose change

Scrounged from under his car seats

Then squeezes in a corner,

Opens a laptop,

Logs on to the free WiFi,

And begins to type.

What the hell is he typing?

What could he have left to say?

He hasn't looked yet.

He's holding out hope.

Something is radiating

From his poorly defined form.

He's typing these words

As if he'd never composed

Three thousand earlier poems,

As if he'd never

Stop composing them.

He is still changing.

He'll keep changing still.

So will you. Death, too.