by Natalie Vestin

An astronomer last year gave thanks
for filaments of gas that stitch the Milky Way
back to its dark becoming, more proof
that chaos is forestalled
simply by what trails behind.

Can gas have surface, ever be a thread? I ask
my dad, who taught me by a dark night’s fire
that all that was and is has curled
itself around the seen.

Stars are held in place
by their own gravity, he says, and liquid lies.
Its surfaces of vapor seethe in spite of all assertions
that its molecules attract.

Iodine, a solid sure, will fume
before your eyes, and you’ve seen
icicles—what’s the word?—in cold that cuts
to bone. Sublime.

Natalie Vestin (she/her) is a writer, artist, and infectious diseases researcher who lives in Saint Paul, Minnesota. Her work has been published in Pleiades, The Normal School, The Iowa Review, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere. Her Instagram is @natalievestin.