What exists in the shadow of a thing
That casts no light? I wonder if it’s God
On the other side collecting data fallen
Past the horizon. Lonely in the center
Of the Milky Way, the ultimate introvert,
What does It know of us? If we are made
Of stardust, do we collapse into ourselves
On death, our souls an absolute density?
This photo draws me in for minutes, hours,
With its accretion disk the color of a campfire.
Scientists made the image by accumulation,
Frame on frame on frame until the form
Emerged from consensus. How would our lives look
If every day were stacked together? What ring
Of bright ejecta would encircle our darkness?
Imagine this is Judgment Day. The most
Approximate average of our being scanned by God
As we’re spaghettified in our passing through.
When stretched to the limit, will we be found trapped
Inside the monster of our own making,
Like Reinhardt in The Black Hole, subsumed by
His robot Maximillian, or ferried through
By a crystalline angel even Rilke wouldn’t fear,
To the new heaven of a habitable planet?
This one is dying. We endeavor deep
Into space, finding photons orbiting
The portal like adorers ringing Christ
Risen, information falling in like crowns
Thrown at his feet. What doesn’t tumble in,
Like ashes. I wish to use them to remake
The world. I’ve no idea how it will turn out.
Jason Gray is the author of Radiation King (Lost Horse Press, 2019) and Photographing Eden (Ohio University Press, 2008). He hosts the podcast Drunk as a Poet on Payday.
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