Blueshift
by Amanda Stovicek
At night the sky runs away
with itself, pulling tiny threads
of red into rainbow, stretching gold against
the darkness that holds you. At night the sky
shifts, lets loose all that it’s knitted--
tapestry of violent delights and violent
creation--stars tossed like glass in the arc
of shatter. At night the sky never
imagines the fade, the edge of everything
rushing back from prism to cold blue.
All that you are is inverse:
a spool running thread back on,
the coil of a spring returning taut in machine
universe. One moment the shadows
stitch fever like blazing stars, the next
the unsung seams are crumpled on your snag
shivering against frozen catalyst. You are just
blue, spectrum and collapse, universe end.