Virginia

You are a comet, and you
are unlike planets and stars,
unlike the center of bright
burning galaxies,
unlike the light-year-length of
shooting X-ray filaments,
unlike the center of Einsteinian
singularities.
Your orbit is an elongated oval,
and shoots out
eccentrically out of this galactic plane.
You appear after eons
and I deflate.
I see your icicle-like
ionized tail, curved, dazzling.
You paint the night
sky with a Crayola magic marker.
And I ask myself how can this be?
A blonde wisp of your tail
scathes my chest,
and my hair burns organically.
and I lie scarred,
like cracks on the hard surface
of a red pomegranate.
Your speed breaks sound barriers,
and leaves sonic cones,
trembling.
You etch arcs across a
van Gogh studded night-sky.
In your stony crevices,
time stands still.
And yet isn’t all of space-time,
just relative?