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Infinity and i

Here i stand
on the doorstep of God:
one small boy
on a still black night
just looking up.

Looking up, up and ever up
from bright stars to the dim,
past dim to the only imagined.
And then?  What then?
Even space must end sometime,
somewhere, but how?

My thin ribs race
to the drumbeats of panic.
I can’t escape. My foot is caught
in the jaws of the inconceivable,
like in that nightmare under ether,
the blue line plunging forever
through bottomless blackness
screaming.

The blue line, yes, and i.
Still screaming.

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Randy Minnich is a retired research chemist and chemistry professor. He now focuses on writing, environmental issues, and grandchildren. He is a member of the Squirrel Hill Poetry Workshop and has published two books, Wildness in a Small Place and Pavlov's Cats: Their Story. His poetry has appeared in Main Street Rag, Pearl, U.S. 1 Worksheets, Blueline, and other publications. He seems to be writing more about aging, these days, and suspects it's because his friends are getting old.