a comet

The stars have never been so much aligned, as this, i come and go under the evidence of infernal machines and heavenly orbits, This rising and falling of iron gears and crystal epicycles. First toward Mercury and later toward distant Eris, and back. I am like a comet, of sorts, falling into the sun just far enough to get singed, then retreating, leaving a trail of vapor in my wake. Perhaps I seek to be singed some, or perhaps it is because i am so drawn to the sun as to ensure my own destruction, save a last minute escape impluse, the memory of which fades to murmurs in the celestial cold black. So, i return, again and again, to this. Some cycles run fast and threaten to vaporize my every molecule of atmosphere, others burn slow, but they all burn, again and again, till i am just a cinder.