Aaron Poochigian
Matter
  

Darling, in France
Some crank has whipped up
A black hole under
Glass, and I worry:
What if he slipped up?
I mean, one blunder,
One mischance,
And the world will be sorry.

Will one vast gullet
Suck the clock-tower
Sideways and pull it
Out of time?
Will police head-quarters
Lose all power
At the end of crime?
Will local reporters
Somehow contrive
To capture on tape
The void expanse
Of a vacuum live?
Will nothing escape,
Not even light?
Somewhere in France
It is not even night.

Sooner or later,
For better or worse,
A Re-Creator
Will stop and reverse
Motion, revamp
Lab and lamp,
Earth, sun and moon—
Possibly soon.

Alive tonight
In Utah, dear,
With candle-light
And an atmosphere,
I hope my affection
Never will shatter
Or shift direction.
May such things matter.

 

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