by Nick Gisburne
I listen. Was this message meant for me,
A code that only I can understand?
They tell me they are coming, forced to flee,
But not in any way their planet planned.
A superburst. I haven’t heard of that.
Too technical to tell me more. No time.
They need a stronger signal. Mine is flat.
I bump it up, then watch the vectors climb.
No matter moves beyond the speed of light,
So how can I accept the bounds they break?
Insisting more than science feeds their flight,
They puncture through a wormhole’s quantum quake.
The sky ignites with trails of black and red.
I listen to the scanner. Nothing. Dead.
