All last year, I waited for a white dwarf
to crash into a red giant’s stellar
wind, for the display–electric orange,
pink. I studied simulations online.
What would it feel like inside the light, to
float between photons, waves? I thought I might
cry. For months, I watched the night sky. I saw
myself on the balcony looking up,
saw myself breaking down. I asked myself
why, then replied, You know. You know. This is
not a memory. Still I replay it
over & over again as if it
happened. I cannot stop the breaking down.
It comes whether or not the star is born.