Worlds Rend Worlds Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

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Worlds rend worlds, and their dust is worlds.
Creation dies and is born and is never done.
Miracles don't offer any good reasons;
and there are echoes that aren't even sound.

Now, as forever, at the no-edge
of existence, are string-strung diadems
thrust on celestial emptiness-
In universal space, beauty is
(beauty is!) flung across those skies:
starlight's shimmering celebration quickens night.