Like an Avalanche
Like an Avalanche by Caleb Braun Like an Avalanche the black hole increases in mass, that's what it's known for. It deletes, by definition, planets and stars. Also optic nerves, Handel's Messiah , the twin Voyagers—in theory. I once owned a chinchilla softer than dawn that never wanted to be touched. Having seen the past I can't get back to it. Meanwhile, the steady accumulation of space debris has occluded potential extra-terrestrial communication. I once thought a hilltop grove of scrub oak, elm, and ash choked by the construction of subdivisions to be nature's last hope. As a boy, I imagined chaining myself there. You'll forgive me if I'm wary of listing what little persists. Not even Pluto remains itself. Each body shifting red ...