Apocalypsis

(For Kamala, Susanna)

Who is this,
arrayed in white,
washed in blood
unseen
of the unheard?

“I’m speaking.”

And we,
daughter,
are listening:
eyes upturned
in this moment.

Crystal veil
rent overhead:
jagged shards
falling past,
a third of all stars,

held tight
by gravity’s arms
to the bosom
of the center
of the Earth.

How could you know?

You were never told
any different.
You never knew
impossible.

Never mind
the glass.

You can’t tell
it’s there,
or maybe
I can’t tell
it isn’t.

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