Rolling Dice

When gods shoot marbles,
the fates draw near,
cloaked in clouds swirling
'round the Jovian throne.
They roll their dark glass eyes
like dice,
to plot careening paths
through frozen black of space.

Drunk deeply on ambrosia,
immortals, in one-up dares
of mass destruction,
flick apocalyptic rocks
more massive than Olympus.
They split the gap 'twixt
Earth and Moon so close
we feel their passing tug
of gravity.

Scott Speck
03/22/2002