Dancing with the Oort
Cloud on the edge of reality,
frozen ballerinas in white dresses of snow
flirting with the stranger from so many miles below,
the comet turns slowly to behold the belly
that eons ago created its nickel-iron soul.
He has been a nomad with a heart of stone
for seventy years and change, a prodigal
who leans inward to a half-forgotten love.
His elliptical dive spins memories in retrograde
as solar winds sweep dust and ice like a
into tails of a white tuxedo billowing in the void.
Transformed from old man to dancer come late to the ball,
he sheds skin like a snake, his youthful
brain on fire
with hope that gravity will gyre and break his fall.
Surely Lazarus felt this magnetic pull of life
as he stuttered from the cold, dark tomb,
white burial shrouds trailing in the wind
as bright yellow light streamed across his born again face.
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