There is no reason we should meet
but for a physics older than breath,
older than death, older than seasons
or their measure. Where I’m headed—

straight into the hot and hidden core
of you—is no different from the star-
flame in which I was forged. Fathom
this: there is no being without impact,

no expansion without explosion. O
how long and alone I have floated in
this directionless dark, where falling
has no definition, to you in your spin.

My arrival will be slow and sudden.
Haven’t you always waited for this?