When Years Take the Stars Away

If you’re reading this in one-hundred-million,
two-thousand and seven AD, that is, after all the stars
have inched away, taking their tails of light with them,
far off to where the universe strikes a light against
what, at the time of writing, has no dimension, the timeless
place that time is coming to, I want to tell you
that here – right now – the sky is prinked
with nebulae in clusters and symposium,
the light is mostly white, so you get the true idea of blackness
and the abundance is such that it presses infinities
into the foreheads of children lying safe in their beds at night, 
and those who can get out from the cities
and take the time to sit outside, make up elaborate
stories, concerning these embroideries of starlight, and if
a meteorite rushes, burning, into the earth’s air,
wonderment bubbles up, into this strange satisfaction
which might be happiness. I want you to know, as you sit
reading this on your black and starless planet
that you should not find that blank
blanket of night a reason to believe that stars do not exist,
the galaxies, the Milky Ways and the jewel of Magellan’s Clouds,
still shine and burn abundant in distant orbits.

This is one of the poems that often gets a run when I am invited to give a reading. Of course, while it is ostensibly about the expanding universe, it is a love poem.

Share this: