Burning Reflected

[Cthonian]

I smoke through the window,
since the room should not be
grey in the mornings.

So between
drawn crackling drags
that seem to emit a power,
and faint touches
of balled ash that fall
softly between fingers
like an insect's flight,
I regard with some
exacting illusion
the reflection of my humble flame
in the cocked glass
of my window-fold.

The living phantasm
of the reflected flame
appears to me
as a growing, glowing orb,
rising in the black sky,
exploding some hundred million miles away.

Pulsing in bright, dying orange,
this beautiful star,
in the black night of my mind,
engulfs and consumes
the unmeasured universe,
starting with this sky,
this sea, this earth,
the divine explosion
removes every trace of life
from this violent planet.
Annihilation, deletion, negation.
No bed to rise from tomorrow,
in the grey morning.