Weltall
The cacophony of lights dance across her hull;
I'm ensnared in those dark-matter eyes
before I can blink.
Hydrogen wings catch the glow of the radio
with accretion-disk-gathering speed;
Blueshift marks the notes echoed back
through the Eddington (city-burn) fog.
Test patterns noise up the cables -
couldn't see the damn Lymann
forest for the girders.
Somewhere in the blazar haze
are lensing events my voice strains to reach:
"Cut the cables and restraints!"
The horizon burns easy this time of night,
or so the iron pulsars claim.
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