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.