Author: Cheryl Snell

It’s raining stardust, elemental, anonymous stardust straight from the humming sky, rootless stardust descending on a discontent man, a blank-slate child made of infinite stardust, plugging his ears against sound trapped in light leaking music. While it collapses inward to the core, the explosion limns the man’s windows with stardust before dissolving in wind and sky all that connects us as if our ancestors were still alive. Stardust in cracked river beds. Stardust spilling over the banks. Stardust in pregnant bellies. There is a woman on top of the discontent man with lips of stardust. A fine bronze powder filters through her hair. Then the discontent man rolls over on the woman listening to a tuba and a flute as the notes float by on a cloud of stardust. Music of the spheres. Musica universalis. This is what she hears when she is with him. What if she stops listening? What if he does? She doesn’t understand why he would want to climb into the black hole without her. Things could always be worse. Gravity could tear them apart.