telescope moon

see the downward inspirals, the from-space fractal jetties
twinkling like flakes of sandstone in an empty spring’s past light
their whispers fade from the little surgical coroners
and the shadows ripped from the still, dance a mechanical jig

see them fold back along the ridges that I built, I built
those ridges so clever and convex in their hand-spun perfection
molded them and fired them for years till they had a will
or maybe their will was there all along, along just me

and now they, brittle, break at my touch, my nervous grasp
willing it back to me, I am lost to myself, in the company
of these strangers, the trees and their rooted still,
pray a mechanical god will release its claw
from the little universe near my telescope moon