my life in the belly of the world beast

by Albert Goldbarth

It dies. And a gazillion years in the future
the sight of its dying reaches Earth.
— Computed in dinosaur years, that’s three days
from the brain’s death to its being recognized as dead
in the far frontiers of the tail.

Night. A party. “Come out here for a minute.”
Dina told me: she’d miscarried. But
her body hadn’t registered that yet, it kept
preparing for a birth. And so we sat on the porch
in silence for a while, in the light of that star.

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