it is called an event horizon,
that decision to become one with the
inwardly absorbed, secretively unlightened and
vacuously coy mystery,
but just what transpires when the pencil-like
shuttle submerges, surrendering submissively
to the deepest of most unseen chasms and
mating with the blackness
is any physicist's guess.
perhaps it is welcomed into the
hidden club of the gods, where only
the courageous are angels,
or maybe, in some far solar system,
a new daisy emerges.
it is possible that the hungry emptiness,
appeased, returns her lovers' generosity
with giftful creation, and the two
enter together a mutually birthed
dimension, in which
the mortality of senses stays
completed by a more celestial everlastingness--
or does the swallowing extend,
contagious, and the fevered astronauts
implosively consume themselves in a
frantic killing search for
core within a core?
it is unknown, for of all travelable
distances this allure remains
only ungraced by any sufficiently
brave or brainless Columbus;
"cats are killed by this," they each explain
through foot shufflings, "far more frequently
than continents are found."