Though we haven’t a clue,
we think we know the rules
as soon as we hit the hardwood.

Punch drunk on gravity and laced
with a wrecking ball beat, we follow
the pulse of light and the urge

of limbs to writhe free from core.
Celestially embodied, we break
off and spin away only to revolve

back into orbit around the center’s
supermassive lure. By the end
of the night, we’ve lost ourselves

in what we think is the cosmos.
We believe ours is an inextricable
integer in some vast solar system

only we can see, yet we are certain
earthly eyes will search for us when
we are gone. If only we knew we are

just a handful of Kongming lanterns
set alight to drift together among the stars,
but always, always, to burn out alone.

-Bianca Spriggs