You, with your relative youth
your pout, your upward gaze.
A young stellar object.
And me, in front of you by decades.
I see you as if in a mirror, behind me
coming up fast in your body
a month now perhaps for every year
I’ve practiced being alive.
I’m a supernova to your protostar.
You are contracting, building mass
not so far behind me at all.
In fact, it could all be happening at once
though clocks run slow when gravity’s pull is strong.
Together we make shapes with our bodies
we reach down to reach up, we breathe.
But we speak a different language
and I forget that sometimes.
You want to know things you cannot know
without the passing of time
and the shaping of your muscle and bone by habit.
You cannot keep contracting forever.
Until the time comes for you to know
wait with your heart open.
Trust that the cage of your bones will protect it
and that your skin will be a boundary
to keep all that juiciness of yours
from spilling out all over the place.
We will become remnants, dust.
Ultimately the difference between us, nil.
It is a relief to know that in this universe
there are no dead stars yet, and
even the most ancient of stars still radiate light.
Because you and I, we prefer to shine.