Fast Radio Bursts Detected Close to Earth
       

Some tongues go undiscovered. Neutron stars,
for example, declare their own discourse. Radio
antennae prick with their fast untranslatable bursts.
Astronomers scrutinize the chat, Rosetta stone
splinters. They're so sure what they hear is story, but love,
I am fluent in the slivers under story. Of all the languages
you and I exchange, the most inaudible
feeds the need at its origin, the one that happened
at the dawning, at the original searing
wound. The compression that shaped your life, cut

you away from yourself. The vowels beyond vespers,
low and longing, are freedom. The consonants spill
space, vastness spelling over. You know this.
You will take up the slow expanse, tacit greening, wrap
yourself in swells of soft blue skyline
which you and I transmit in silent letters speeding
close to earth. You will soundlessly hum along to the hook
of my quiet chorus. You will know that I voice
and restore the lightyears, that this box of hush is loud
with what only you receive.

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Copyright © 2022 Laura Reece Hogan All rights reserved
from Presence: A Journal of Catholic Poetry
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission