umber spilled from his lips
and shattered light from his fingertips
when the helium of blue giants has all gone, his solar system
crumbles with it
and he grows
he grows as much as he can, holds on as long as he can, but
everything falls apart.
you can see the remnant of his supernova in his face, in his hands, in his shaky breath and tremulous words
in the heart, still glowing brighter and hotter than any Ia star,
but that pulsar, his mind, keeps spinning and spinning
long after he's nothing but
dust.