Here's a poem I wrote on Holy Saturday thirty-four years ago.
HOLY SATURDAY 4/2/88
Three hundred million light-years to the next county,
On the way maybe a five-billion solar mass black hole
(As Senator Dirksen used to say at budget time: “A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon it adds up to real money”),
In the neighborhood, city center of the Milky Way, enough vodka (a molecule at a time, alas) to fill ten thousand earth-size goblets: