A rage radiates from the molten surface of this star
looping and leaping, burning and blazing,
never with intent as its light crashes
into other bodies.
Bodies, the celestial and carbon, where rings
of rocks are called a belt, but —
hold nothing together because forces face
matters of invisible perplexity.
The imagination tells the universe that
cyclical lie: justice is coming but
the atmosphere just isn’t right.
Intelligent life condemns the sun as
it flares in the ages of the night
a beacon of hope and warmth
like a fist in the dark skies with the
whole galaxy watching;
Burning at the center.