If love had the equivelant to redshift in light
we would know how far appart we've grown.

[northern hemisphere: on a beach above the 50th latitude at the end of winter]

(Winter-export), the beach frosted by fingers of polar constellations. It’s too cold to walk without huddling, but we do it nonetheless, because we only have one more night together. Your frothy hydro-rhythm spears into pith, irradiance; I breathe again, deeply. (Thick lips; quick still-hunt.) I rivet fronds of dependence into the seams of your boreal palms, never planning to return the floating colony of barnacles I promised I’d throw back; you, never planning to catch the sun bored through salt spray, clasping crisp foreheads, stitching on glistered lips and froze-shut lashes. And on a day when you didn’t rise early enough, I was left out in the water until my chest was steeped deep in ice over the thought of losing you. (Glimmering isle); my hair disheveled in sea-foam. Annular light. You pushed me in, and I relented. My isotherm sent chthonically. But you, in your legendary mantle, adapted my eyes to see the light hidden deep within your belt; such pinks and fuchsias I have never seen before, suddenly inverted. At absolute velocity, I cut my foot on sea-glass, bleeding blueshift, aligning to the colours of the zenith. You take me back to the starry house and we struggle with your parallax, a nadir inseminated on the celestial pole. (Parsecs quaking.) You whisper, I’ll heal you. I’ll heal you, only if you let me. Only if… you let me…  Over and over and over until it’s as mundane as the crashing coast, and unrivaled, I concede to everything and wake up deep in redshift, the whole universe escaping, warmth-ribbons suffocating the abyss: without you, alone on the ecliptic at last. In the spring-sinking, you order me a silver sword, sharp in starlight; to remember you. You stand a guardian, beyond the sun, flinging tiny ice-hot rocks (freighting gemstones); King of the Heavens. I submerge myself into the bathic depths, skulking in aestival despair, as you trade the night for day. Little do you know, my resurgence is also in your hands.

[i watched Orion slip from view every night this spring. No doubt he’ll return next winter... it’s sad losing a friend like that, for so long]

Did not God want to be cherished
to cultivate and co-create
but instead we consume
like beautiful glowing fire
and maybe the ashes will make something
but dust to dust we are

maybe to burn is to live
like stars can fuel planets
is it distant passion or suffering
at least brief life flickers warm

time alone seems so expansive and cold
and eternity, as a dark vacuum that no fire can touch
is it better to suffer and live
or do you envy the crushing quiet of nonexistence

a speck of dust on a clover can't see where it's blowing
but somehow red light tells us that distance is growing

if human is dust
are we not a literal residue of some combustion
were then the Universe and God having tea together and laughing about us
And when people talk about them fighting
Are the two mistaken for each other?

Doppler shift frequency is equal to the change in velocity
Of the source divided by its velocity, times the observed velocity
And in electromagnetic radiation has a different name
Of  Redshift or blueshift coming or going its all the same

Redshifts , blueshifts answer to the letter “z”
And others in wavelengths too short to see
And so the universe is flying apart
Doing nothing more than its preordained part

Gets a boost from dark energy  and dark matter
Whose high energy photons scatter
And sometimes back to us and some we never see
Running away from us whose sight can never be

For there is a light barrier at 4906
Whose distance holds photons just for kicks
Four thousand nine hundred and six
Mega parsecs sticks

Light from ever reaching you and me
It’s sixteen billion light-years you see
And the galaxies redshifted past Z<=1.4
Are faster than the speed of light forevermore

Just beaming towards us caught in a cosmological undertow
That pulls it ever-on towards infinity whose celestial wind blows
It till the very essence of time standing still
And the stars all wink out and energy becomes nil

Dave Proffitt
2/9/2015
4:58 PM

In eighth period no students rest
their heads on their desks today.
They are afraid that the moment
they look away, they will turn back
to find they’re not people anymore.

As for us, we had a voice at least.
We had a dream of being
the teachers with the same last name,
the English teacher with the periodic
table on the wall, and her wife
who teaches monomers
like they were grass’s leaves.
Is that a complexity you can understand?

You can repeal our hope
of exchanging rings—
our feathered thing—
but we will still converge
on the ninth graders of your nation
to be sure your face has not tinted
them with your fear. There will be
no redshift here, only a drift
of progress. There we’ll be,
stationed in the inspiration
of youth to undo
your unfathomable bigotry.

Those who can’t, teach.

It takes so much to whip me, beat me
Add a cup of sugar

And slowly pour me
Over thick slices of strawberry
That stick together.

Like promised gems
Pressed upon on your tongue
Casting their tiny incantations to each bud

They sweep away the emptiness for a moment,
They take away the pain

all my stars were black holes
all my light points dark pits
plain to see in hindsights redshift

Eudaimonia:
Once you were elusive

Now,
I feel the redshift in my bones.

I know that god watches me in stunning HD,
Has the whole thing on blu-ray--
But I've smudged my eyes and blurred my brain.

I've stomped my heart in the raging forum
To scoop it back up beneath my jacket
And scurry off like a disgraced man.

And I have ridden my bike headlong into traffic.

So now when I think about stars beyond that horizon
For me there is a despondence in their leaving:
A permanent obscurity gnaws at my mind.

But I'm a crusader after the holy grail,
A politician after world peace. No--
I'm a priest tripping on acid, staring at stained glass windows.

I worry that the Enemy has already made a feast of me
That in defense of myself I'd come undone
And be left with little pebbles
Eudaimonia
Are we too late

Slender spider striking, straight from center

The concrete re-enters the common points,

impact retracts skin layers, blood on white

toilet paper

Bent butts on the broke blue table, redshift

reason into regard once again,

our brains spiral and spin,

define truth my friend

It's all about what you make it, sabers and layers

peeled back, full frontal attack

a mouse in a trap

kicking

We're sticking our necks out so far

no fear inspired scars on our

slate gray souls

Broken bowls on the back porch, collecting spider

webs and insect legs and

clausterphobic cocoons

Found the last loon in the ****** bin

flying south, dreaming of a quiet pond

to land in