what does it matter
he says
we are all headed
down that black hole,
down the drain of
the universe
what does it matter
he says
We are all sycamore logs
beside a river
bleached by a dying sun.
All of our Picassos will go down
that black hole
like they were a painting of grapes
from the Goodwill
that you bought for the frame.
what does it matter
he says
we have laid black walnuts on the road
and our hands are stained
from gathering them.
We have gathered flowers for the table.
There is a path in the woods
and children explore it,
searching for something.
Black Hole Poem C. 2021 David Michael Jackson
