I once likened you to a supernova;
it occurred to me during a memory of
Mr. Lanzilotta's awful goatee—
of how it twitched and curled,
unfurling, as he formed words about
black holes and dark matter.

"When a star's core collapses,
it creates a supernova."
I envied such a
truly noble death.

Fact: supernovae can outshine galaxies—
but they implode quickly.
Within a matter of weeks, supernovae may
     run
           out
                 of
                     nuclear fuel.

You lasted a month
before being swallowed by
darkness and space gas—
but how bright your flame;
how brilliant your spectrum;
how lovely—and melancholy—your
pervading,
fading
stardust.