Prismatic strands and bright flecks of stardust,
stretch across ebony fields of empty ether.
Light knows no boundaries;
the living, breathing cosmos.
Father Time, surely bends and distorts
as hidden strings and stellar fabrics,
of space—eternally alive—hold
each comet and every new star
in their place. Flowing elliptical models.
No perfect circles. No celestial spheres.
Galaxies spiral outward, in harmony;
A peaceful hurricane, shaping the dreams
of this young universe. Beautiful fractals
exist terrestrially too. Our Mother Earth,
births seashells and cast cyclones,
from the same ancient mold.
The blueprint to all matter,
a golden script of life and death.
Yet long ago, I told myself:
I’d never fall in love.
by Benjamin Schneider
Michelle Moloney King 