Metanoia This is not your destruction— For a star to ignite its centre & shower the vacuum with light, remember a cloud must first collapse & go on collapsing like a breakdown. No, not madness—torn apart by change tin soldiers melt & form a heart, now laying in a hearth like a cinder from the Wormwood Star. I can’t stop thinking of Oppenheimer & a blast radius mannequins scorched in a paper town. I can’t seem to transform myself— I learned the first law of thermodynamics believed in retrograde, you’d return like a meteorite that tumbles through sleep, dissolves on impact. Don’t ask me to find meaning in Cassiopeia I can’t share your eyes—the stars: pinholes through a tarp. Why do parts of a galaxy spin at the same speed? God—please tell me glial cells are the brain’s dark matter—the sun’s tilt through a star field is more than the elliptic & from Mauna Kea there’s such a thing as omens at least. I think of robots deserting us at a distance—& in this paint, the stellar debris.