John Kinsella reads
Rapture: Tim Discovers the Cosmos
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As my cosmology fades, Tim’s forms like a birthing star and brightens. My illuminations go no further than: on a dull day powderbarks glow like conscience. Carnaby’s cockatoos fly back and forth uncertain as the barometer. Brightness forces similes. And we know about them. Once outside the earth’s atmosphere there’s no holding Tim back. He knows the order of the planets without a mnemonic, backwards. He is already travelling beyond them. An asteroid belt is no hindrance. His new, habitable planets— Leed, Watar, Vilantar, and Britar— have the sulphuric yellow clouds of Venus, the redness of Mars, the basic lack of atmosphere on his favourite ‘inner planet’, Mercury. Mercury—days of conflagration, nights of annihilating cold. The extremities define his planets, creation: the body has no limits. In space you can breathe. His—my—cosmos.