Black holes have rings of light straw hair


                    It’s the past that tells us who we are.  Without it
                    we lose our identity.  –  Stephen Hawking

A raven carried heaven-manna
out of the ark to lonesome
Jonah – him just come
from under the whale-rib (manna

overboard) stranded on sand
off Galilee, RI –
& it made him cry.
Those crispy cackles he couldn’t

understand – like low gull-talk
sent through a black-
hole paradox;
light straw climbed an orange rock

from the event horizon up to
null infinity –
it was all catenary,
looped in one wave-smile... – who?

Gravity? – or Grace?  Eurydice,
maybe.  (It was her cave.)
Spoiled meat you crave
is portioned by division – say,

two doves for every plowman’s mule.
Queequeg in his casket
(like a scrimshaw trinket)
penned our sempiternal Rule –

each rustic Penny in the well of night
was tender out of love.
Her vernal sparkle-trove
is polyglot – Euphrasia (eyebright).


Monk's Mound (Illinois)

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