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by Betsy Martin


In sunlight,

cinnamon circles.


Chocolate zodiacs

in shade.


The black holes

in their middles


are for me

a downfall



As I teeter

on the event horizon,


the fact impresses

itself upon me


that what is drawn

into the deepest heart

will not retreat.


Your gravity,

as I pitch,


pulls me,

moves me singularly,

with warm arms,


to the point

where I am crushed

to the infinite.