My hair started turning white

While God took a vacation
Supposedly
To work with Stephen Hawking
On his second law of black hole dynamics

Mrs God knew
It was God’s way of saying
He would be out chasing Jung women
She was Jung once herself

Me
I had been sucked into a black hole
where you could smell your hair turning white
before you saw it

Where both past and present
flickered past
like a star burst flare reflecting on
a rice paddy