I bought a satellite’s eye from the market.

To look through it involved the whole god-orbit,

a cotton-wooled Faberge Earth –

sight as a megastructure,

hung in my own sphere above a sphere

and above that the umbilical tug

of a natural satellite.

My mouth, too puny to be seen, said to me:

did you think the moon

would taste like a new tooth?

It’s collision, a negative crater

knocked from the planet:

in truth the apocalypse was years ago,

and you can always choose another faith.