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POETRY BOOK FOUR: Untitled Book in Progress
On the Origin of Galaxies

Play a black hole backwards, what will you see?
I hypothesize: a galaxy.

Starry spiral arms, ejected from the heart,
Galactic disks whirl, when black holes swirl apart.

Water rotates down the drain;
Play the time passed in reverse, it spins back up again.

The Milky Way, Andromeda and galaxies abound,
They’re all black holes, silently unwound.

Matter hits a packing point and bounces redeployed,
Our galaxy’s decretion disk flings us into the void.

A white hole.

|| My Poetry ||