"The iron in blood, for instance, was made from a star."
(from a news clipping)

I think of it passing through
the heart, how it might ride out
the small explosions, the brief
warmth. On the other side,
the light it left—a wound away,
waiting for it to rush out
like an ancient religion.
The story begins
by saying we're all stardust
and ends with me
moving away at some spontaneous
speed, unable to stop sharpening
the unobservable sword
hanging at my side.