but the universe is cold.

The last faery died this morning
after chain smoking hallucinogenic
pollutants; she couldn't tell
between all the stars she saw

and one was twirling, dancing
swirls of multicolored ink
circling a lone, dark aperture.
In her pursuit she passed the point

where any God would follow.
And in the end, as crushing black
collapsed inward, she cried out