Someday the sun, ceasing its fire
and spiral toward dust or increase
in density—a reaching toward
a haul of iterant rocks
tumbling—will as it always has,
only this time more starkly,
fail to recognize you.
Nolan Meditz was born and raised on Long Island, where he received his MFA at Hofstra University in 2014. He received a Ph.D. in English from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette in 2018 and will begin teaching writing at Southwestern Oklahoma State University this fall. His poetry has appeared in Roanoke Review, AMP: Journal of Digital Literature, Mockingheart Review and The Wild Word among other publications.
Art by Jenn Zed.
califragile.org 
Reblogged this on moxie supper and commented:
Simply beautiful —and tragic, for the sun that has always known you from when you were only stardust yourself has no more recognition of you, and even Universe for you, once only womb becomes vast womb of non-existence where the whole shebang began, etc. unending cycle
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