Not all eyes watched the meteor streak,
bursting a thundering word weighed down last syllable;
conversely, A moth of fire, self-sufficient light,
Unpacking ice and rock, an outer chrysalis of air.
Not all ears were cracked Like office windows, not all hands broken up like zinc factory brick.
Not all shaken by the plume of an inch worm’s organ, one massive bulge of sulfurous cloud.
Rather most drivers rode in and out of the Ural town,
through streets cleared of Russian snow and frowned at inconsiderate glare.
These days of hybrid cars, what is heaven but expansions of earth?
Sitting at home, the sky is immaterial and news concrete:
The president discourages protest.
