Nebula

If the moon can wane as well as wax, if the iris in bloom can contract after extravagant dilation, if a cloud of astral dust can some century suck in the atoms that once hovered and slid, ghostly, over our slip of the galaxy, then this blur of pigment, this melanin stretching a train of dark ivy across my skin, can also reverse its growthcan draw back in an unleafing, in a lunar non-eclipse, in a micro big crunch with all the outbreaking, heartbreaking particles willed to implode.