SARAH WOLBACH

Singularity
—a point of zero volume and infinite density to which any mass that becomes a black hole must collapse

We’ve been swimming in the reservoir

of the Oort Cloud, where the nuclei of new comets
splash in a kiddie pool of spiraling ice and dust                                           
450 billion or 7 trillion light years away.
Let’s stop tossing billions around like confetti.
Light years, kilometers, what not. Fifteen years

our crystal anniversary, myriad moons

skimming the stars, luminous,

binary-ing by the side of the pool

of inertia. I can think in free-

fall of hundreds, to a point, but thousands

twist. Twelve thousand kisses, give or take.

5,840 mornings of coffee in bed,

more or less, you bring me

when I call. A straight line, the shortest distance

between mapping and hiatus, hiatus and collapse.

I am a black hole, critic of infinite

destiny. You, a white dwarf, exhausted, shining.