Per un Pertugio

The cosmos burns, but most of it is dark.
The furnace hearts of stars crush into dark.

The Earth is a full world, mostly empty.
Its heart is empty of complications.

Life is everywhere, except where it’s not.
Life soaks Earth’s crust, but Earth’s core it can’t touch.

The countryside burns, mostly quietly.
People are seething, mostly quietly.

Our streets, our heads, are lit with lights, but dark.
Light cracks the heart, leaving most of us dark.